


The Prisoner

by naps4bats



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anglo-Saxon, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Pregnancy, Romance, Violence, descriptions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 61,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26242849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naps4bats/pseuds/naps4bats
Summary: Canon divergence: Sigefrid and Erik take Uhtred hostage, and Aethelflaed is determined to see him freed. But her plan leads to a romance she was not prepared for.
Relationships: Aethelflaed Lady of Mercia/Erik Thurgilson
Comments: 109
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

Usually, she enjoyed riding. The journey along Watling Street, though dangerously close to Danish settlements and Danish warriors, was beautiful. Today was a particularly lovely day; the warm sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting intricate shadows on the path ahead. But she couldn’t enjoy it, not with the fears and worries clouding her thoughts.

  
Uhtred was being held hostage. He’d been lured into a particularly clever trap–it seems he had finally been outsmarted. Now he was being held by Sigefrid Thurgilson, a fearsome warlord with an ever-growing army. Three moons had passed since Uhtred’s capture, and Aethelflaed had been on the road ever since, moving from one meeting to the next, consulting with allies and neighbours, hoping to find a solution. After all, Uhtred was Wessex’s greatest warrior. Without him, the future of Wessex–and a united England–was in doubt. Who else could rally the fyrd of Wessex in defence of the kingdom? Who else could secure an alliance with Ragnar and any other Danes who did not yet follow Sigefrid? Who else could convince the lords of Mercia and East Anglia to come to the aid of Wessex? Alfred may be a cunning king and a respected Christian, but in matters of war, Uhtred was the true leader. Everyday that Uhtred remained captive, Wessex became more vulnerable. And Aethelflaed, though she was now the Lady of Mercia, was afraid for her homeland.

  
But the ransom Sigefrid demanded was too high. Of course it was: he had no intention of selling Uhtred back, at least not until the Saxon kingdoms were weakened from fear and infighting. Aethelflaed was traveling south to Winchester to deliver more bad news. Ragnar had refused to help Alfred pay the ransom. His love for Uhtred was not strong enough to sway him: he would not pay a huge sum of gold and silver so that Wessex could recoup their greatest warrior. Likely, he had his own plans for freeing Uhtred, and so would bring the great warrior into his own debt. There was no chance of an alliance between Ragnar and Alfred.

  
Aethelflaed’s meetings in Mercia had been just as fruitless. Her marriage to Lord Aethelred was meant to strengthen the relationship between the two kingdoms. And yet, her husband undermined her at every turn. She wasn’t clear on his motives for delaying Uhtred’s return: maybe it was his loathing for his heathen cousin, or his contempt for his new wife. Maybe he too wanted Wessex vulnerable. Regardless, few Mercian lords would promise silver or warriors to get Uhtred back.

  
Wessex was running out of options. Aethelflaed’s mind ached from thinking through all the possible plans. She did not expect one to fall into her path.

* * *

“Lady, I have news!”

  
Aethelflaed opened her eyes and sat up, struck by the lilt in Wulfric’s voice. He was the captain of her guard and so had traveled with her through the many disappointing meetings. Just this morning, he was as downcast as his lady. But now, his voice sounded bright, even hopeful.

  
He approached and offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet. She brushed off her clothes and he waited calmly for her to invite him to speak. Once again, Aethelflaed was struck by his respect for her. Before her marriage, she had taken such things for granted, as she had always been treated well in her father’s household. But in Mercia and in her marriage, things were different. Aethelred treated her cruelly in private and with condescension in public. Other men tended to follow his lead, dismissing her as a nagging woman rather than a learned leader. But Wulfric’s respect for her never wavered. Not when he saw other men speak down to her or ignore her, nor when he found her crying or cowering after run-ins with Aethelred. He was her man, and she was immensely grateful to him.

“Tell me, what did you hear?”

They had stopped to rest near a holy site. While Aethelflaed stretched out in the grass, willing her mind to calm for a few minutes, her guards had mingled with the other travellers and pilgrims, trading gossip.

“I spoke with a monk, traveling south from Danelaw,” Wulfric explained, his excitement growing with each word. “He told me of a man he encountered just across Watling Street. A Northman. The man was traveling alone, very inconspicuous, but our monk heard from a maid who the Northman was.”

Aethelflaed was struggling to understand the source of Wulfric’s excitement. A Northman? They had enough of those wandering around. What could be special about another? “Well, who was he?”

Wulfric grinned broadly, clearly pleased to be delivering good news after weeks of disappointment. “The man was Erik Thurgilson.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Was this another trap_?

At first, Aethelflaed has been overjoyed at Wulfric’s news. She had never met Erik Thurgilson, but she new he was the solution to Wessex’ problem. He was the younger–and, by all accounts, smarter–brother of Sigefrid. While Sigefrid was chaos, Erik was cunning, and he was key to his brother’s ambitions. Without Erik’s intelligence and skill, Sigefrid’s plan to conquer Wessex was likely to unravel, as Sigefrid would anger or alienate his allies. Sigefrid needed Erik just as much as Alfred needed Uhtred. It was the perfect trade. All Aethelflaed needed to do was capture Erik.

But how could it be so easy? Yes, she had a substantial guard and the knowledge of his whereabouts. But how could he be alone? Here, Wulfric’s monk had failed them. He couldn’t say why one of the most important warriors in England was traveling alone so close to Saxon territory. It worried Aethelflaed. There was a chance he had men nearby. There was an even bigger chance that this whole scenario was a fiction,that an overzealous barmaid had told a lie to a gullible monk.

Despite her doubts, Aethelflaed and her guard were moving forward with their scheme to capture Erik. After all, they had exhausted all other options. The future of Wessex hinged on Uhtred’s freedom. And rash though their plan might be, Aethelflaed was determined. She missed Uhtred. He was one of her oldest and most trusted friends. She feared what Wessex would be without him, especially with her father growing sicker by the day. She would risk her own life to get him back.

And so it was Aethelflaed who made the first move. Some of the men protested their lady’s recklessness, but as always, Wulfric backed her, firmly reminding the men that she gave the orders.

Over the course of the evening, her guards arranged themselves around the alehouse. They had removed any identifying clothing and jewelry, blending in with the other patrons. Other guards hung back, prepping the horses for a quick escape or staking out any potential exits. When Aethelflaed entered the alehouse, her veil pulled tight around her head, no one even noticed her. The other patrons were deep in conversation or distracted by a scuffle by the fireplace, where two men were arguing over a pretty young woman. Of course, the men were Osgar and Eardwulf, Aethelflaed’s own guards, and the woman was her servant. But tonight, they were a convincing pair of belligerent drunks and a welcome diversion. While Eardwulf shoved Osgar towards the fire, causing the servant Mildryd to tug him back by the arm, Aethelflaed approached a table in the corner where a man sat drinking alone.

Without saying a word, Aethelflaed slid into the chair across from the man she prayed was Erik Thurgilson. She reached out and placed her small hand over his large one, trying to pass the gesture off as familiar affection. Her hand was shaking slightly–she knew how tenuous this whole scheme was–but the shaking, she hoped, would only sell her story.

Erik looked up at her, clearly puzzled, but didn’t pull his hand away. He said something gruff in Norse. She leaned forward and spoke quickly to him in English.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I need your help. There’s this man. He’s been following me. I think he means me harm if I don’t agree to– well, I told him I was meeting my husband. I hoped it would scare him off, but I fear he’s called my bluff. If he comes in here, could you just pretend I’m your wife? Just for a few moments. Just long enough to send him away.”

Erik stared at her for a moment as if she were insane. She had been told he spoke English, but now she wondered if that was true. She certainly didn’t know enough Norse or Danish to get her meaning across. She looked at him with what she hoped was a pitiful, vulnerable look. And just as he seemed about to pull away, the door of the alehouse burst open.

Wulfric strode in, his sword glinting brightly at his side. This was the part of the plan that truly worried Aethelflaed. Osgar and Eardwulf were accomplished drunken louts, so their performance was simple. But could Aethelflaed’s devoted guard truly come off as a lech bent on pursuing her? And would Erik Thurgilson care enough to defend her?

As Wulfric caught sight of Aethelflaed and made his way towards the table, Erik played his part as well, just as they all had hoped. He tucked Aethelflaed’s shaking hand under his own and rested his other hand on the long knife he had left on the table. He leaned towards her, feigning intimacy.

“Well, wife, how shall we chase away your new friend?” he asked, in softly accented English. Aethelflaed couldn’t help but smile then, relief flooding through her.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “When he leaves, I promise you all the ale my purse can buy.”

Erik grinned and Aethelflaed felt a rush in her chest. She wrote it off as the adrenaline. The thrill certainly wasn’t due to his handsome smile and the warm, reassuring weight of his hand on hers.

The scene by the fireplace was escalating. Osgar and Eardwulf were engaged in a fist fight and other guests were cheering them on while Mildryd sobbed dramatically. The fight had caught the attention of everyone in the alehouse.

Wulfric was nearing their table and leering at Aethelflaed aggressively. Erik saw the man approach and leaned closer to Aethelflaed, speaking low, “We’ll have to make him believe it, won’t we?”

Before she could respond, he was kissing her. And not a quick, chaste kiss, like a Saxon couple would exchange in public. This was a long, deep kiss, and Aethelflaed was too surprised to pull away. Just as she was recovering from the shock, Erik pulled back with a gasp. There was a glint of steel at his neck.

“Take your hands off the lady.” Wulfric’s voice was even and his hands were steady as he held the knife across Erik’s throat. Erik clutched his own knife but Wulfric pressed down with the blade, increasing his pressure until Erik dropped his weapon. Aethelflaed quickly grabbed it, tucking it into her own belt.

“His sword and axe, lady. Against the chair.”

Aethelflaed stood and seized Erik’s other weapons. Wulfric dragged the Northman to his feet, nodding towards the nearest door leading out into the alley.

“Lead the way, lady. And make sure you’re armed. He’s quick on his feet, I’m told.”

Aethelflaed held Erik’s heavy sword at the ready and led the small, strange party to the exit. She held the door for Wulfric to push Erik through. Two of her guards were waiting in the ally. One of them whistled, signalling for the other guards to join them. Erik didn’t resist as they tied his wrists and searched him for weapons. It was clear he was outnumbered. And, just as she’d prayed, he seemed to be alone. While they secured him and gathered the rest of their party, no one came looking for him. He was well and truly caught.

It wasn’t until they had reached their horses and were preparing to leave that he spoke.

“May I know who my captor is?”

Wulfric answered. “She is Lady Aethelflaed, the Lady of Mercia.” She could hear the pride in his voice.

Erik laughed. She was surprised to see that he looked more impressed than angry. “Well done, Princess. You’re just as clever as they say. You’ll get your Daneslayer back soon.”

Aethelflaed spurred her horse and led her men into the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked the idea of Aethelflaed taking Erik prisoner, though I think it will play out very differently than the other way around.


	3. Chapter 3

They had ridden through the night, stopping mid-morning to rest the horses and catch some sleep. They were back across Watling Street. It was a long journey to Beomfleet where Sigefrid ruled, and Aethelflaed wanted to spend as much of the journey in Saxon territory as possible.

While the men and horses rested, Aethelflaed sat down across from Erik. He was only just finishing his meal, forced to eat awkwardly with his wrists tightly tied. They did not trust him enough to free his hands, at least not yet.

“You know, princess, you fulfilled a prophecy last night.” Erik’s tone was light, and she was once again surprised at his calm demeanour.

“Did I?”

“Yes. My brother Sigefrid always told me I’d ruin my life for a beautiful women.”

Aethelflaed felt her cheeks heat and tried to keep her composure. “Is that why you are so calm, Lord Erik? You have accepted your fate?”

He shrugged. “I did not think my scheme with Uhtred would succeed so well, so I suppose I’m not surprised that it is coming to an end.”

“So it was your plan to hold Uhtred hostage?” She had to respect his strategy. Uhtred’s capture could very well have ruined Wessex. “I had heard you were the clever brother.”

“After last night, I think I may lose that title. It seems I let myself be fooled.”

He gazed at her openly and she found it made her pulse quicken. Aethelflaed settled back in the grass, staring up at the sky to avoid meeting his clear blue eyes.

“Last night was a matter of luck, I think. It is sheer luck that I found the brother of my foe travelling alone, so close to Saxon territory. I thought perhaps it was another trap,” she admitted.

“No, it is my own misfortune that left me alone in that alehouse last night. I was travelling with warriors, but many of them became sick. I did not want to take ill as well, and I thought I could travel alone unnoticed. It seems I’m better known than I believed.”

“But where were you going?”

Erik glanced up at her, surprise on his face. “You don’t know? I thought you knew my path and intercepted.”

She shook her head and looked at him expectantly.

He grimaced. “I was on my way to meet a Mercian lord. To strike a deal.”

“Which lord?”Aethelflaed’s curiosity was getting the better of her.

Erik stared down at his hands, at the thick rope that bound them. “Lord Aethelred.”

Aethelflaed felt a rush of anger, follower by something deeper, blacker: hatred. She hated her husband. Even at a distance, he managed to lower her opinion of him. Of course he would prefer to work with Uhtred’s captors than his own neighbours and her own family.

She gazed across the small glen and met Wulfric’s eyes. As usual, they communicated without words. He tilted his head to the horses and she nodded slightly. He whistled, waking the men who were dozing in the grass.

Aethelflaed stood, still not looking Erik’s way. “We will be leaving soon. Make sure you are ready.” She left to gather her belongings.

* * *

Erik had not intended to be so open with her, but something about Aethelflaed disarmed him. The night before, when she had asked him for help, he had trusted her implicitly. Even now, when he knew it had all been a performance, he found himself eager to obey her orders, answer her questions: anything to keep her attention on him. Sigefrid had been right after all. This woman would ruin Erik.

As he walked behind the horses, careful to keep pace with the guard who held the ropes that bound him, Erik mulled over his conversation with Aethelflaed. So husband and wife were working for different sides. He knew little of the Lord Aethelred, only that he had married King Alfred’s daughter, but was not loyal to Wessex. He had not expected that Aethelred’s name would cause Aethelflaed to tense up in anger. It was clearly not a happy marriage. Because of Aethelred’s ambitions? Because of Aethelflaed’s independence? In Erik’s culture, many women traveled freely and fought as men. But what highborn Saxon lady would be roaming the countryside, capturing heathens and negotiating for hostages? Erik doubted there were many Saxon men who would want such an impressive woman as a wife, even with her beauty.

And there he was, once again contemplating Aethelflaed’s face. He could not chase it from his mind. Her brow was stern when she spoke to her men, her expression confident. But in the firelight of the alehouse, she had appeared so soft and lovely. It was her smile that had spurred him to kiss her. He couldn’t regret that kiss, not even when he felt the rope bite into his wrists.

It had been a foolish thing to travel alone through Mercia. But illness scared Erik, ever since he’d survived a plague as a young boy. He could not wait around for his men to recover, not at the risk of catching ill himself. He had trusted that, once he secured a deal with Aethelred, he would have Mercian troops to see him safely home.

Now that he too was a hostage, he was resigned to his fate. There was no use in trying to escape, just to find himself once again alone in Mercia. Besides, he knew already that he would not do anything to put Aethelflaed at risk, not even escaping and thwarting the exchange of prisoners. He would make it home intact, Uhtred would be released to Saxon guards, and Aethelflaed would stay safe. And in the meantime, he would get to know her.


	4. Chapter 4

They had been on the road for days, but Aethelflaed had spoken to Erik very little. During travel, she rode ahead while he walked behind. When they stopped to make camp, she was never alone with him, though she longed to be. He fascinated her. She wanted to know more about the man who planned to ruin Wessex but also put his life at risk for a strange woman in an alehouse. And, she admitted to herself, she wanted to make him smile, hear him laugh. He had an easy charm, winning over many of her guards, and Aethelflaed wanted more time with him.

But she knew how that would look. For men like Uhtred and Alfred, speaking to prisoners and enemies was natural, expected. But if Aethelflaed paid too much attention to this man, there would be talk, even among her own guards. There were already rumours of her infidelity–likely spread by Aethelred himself. He sought to discredit her at every opportunity. She could not be seen to be too friendly or easy with any man, Erik included.

But on the fourth night of their journey, Aethelflaed took over the night watch of the prisoner. Though Erik was well-liked amongst the men, no one trusted him unwatched through the night. Uhtred’s freedom was too important to put at risk. Wulfric resisted at first, protesting that it was not a duty that a lady should be bothered with, but he was so exhausted from the long day’s ride in the pouring rain that he soon accepted Aethelflaed’s offer. She promised to wake him midway through the night, and he was soon sleeping soundly with the rest of her party.

The rain had finally stopped but the ground was damp and cold. Aethelflaed wrapped herself tightly in furs and settled down near Erik, her sword within easy reach. He seemed to be asleep, but after a moment he rose up and sat beside her.

“You sleep, princess. Get your rest. I’ll take the first watch.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I hope that line doesn’t work with any of my men.”

He laughed softly. “I swore to them I’d never tell if they fell asleep. I’ll extend the same favour to you.”

Aethelflaed felt soothed by the sound of his laughter. She felt herself begin to calm, her aching muscles relaxing after a tense day of riding.

“And you, Lord Erik, aren’t you tired? You’ve been on your feet all day, trudging though the mud. You should sleep while you can.”

Erik shook his head and leaned back against a stump. “I don’t sleep much. My mind doesn’t like to rest, even when I beg it too.” He grinned over at her. “Besides, I need to keep you company.”

They lapsed into silence, both of them gazing up at the stars. There were few shining through the thick clouds.

“Tell me, princess. Why are you traveling the countryside on your own?”

Aethelflaed deflected the question. “I’m not on my own. I have a full guard. A dozen men and a servant, all for me.”

But Erik wasn’t deterred. “You don’t have a husband, though. Not at your side. I expected to find you at Aethelred’s estate when I arrived.”

“He keeps his own estate. I rarely see him.”

Erik waited in expectant silence. Aethelflaed sighed and continued. “If you would have made it to my husband’s home, you would have found him with a mistress. Or two. I think there are two. But perhaps not at the same house. I try not to know too much about it.” Usually, she felt ashamed to even acknowledge Aethelred’s behaviour. But for once, she wasn’t afraid of being shamed.

Erik grunted. “Now why would a man who is married to King Alfred’s daughter, a beautiful woman with a reputation as an intelligent leader and an accomplished warrior, need a mistress?”

Aethelflaed laughed at his flattery. “I don’t think anyone _needs_ a mistress, Lord Erik. They simply want them, and all they signify.”

Erik looked at her curiously then, seemingly surprised she could speak on the subject so comfortably. “And what does a mistress signify?”

She thought for a moment before responding. “Power, I think. Powerful men get anything they want.”

“So your husband wants power?”

“Oh, certainly. He married into the most powerful family in England. In the days leading up to the wedding, you could hear the whispers. My father could have married me to any prince or king. So why Lord Aethelred? As a concession to Mercia? To strengthen the kingdoms’ bond?” She turned to Erik then, eager to explain her theory. “But Aethelred didn’t like this talk. He doesn’t want the King of Wessex doing him a favour. So every night that he takes a mistress to his bed, he reminds the people around him that _he_ has the power. I may be the king’s daughter, but I am not good enough for Lord Aethelred. He deserves better. He deserves more.”

She could hear the bitterness in her voice as she concluded her explanation, and she bowed her head, embarrassed.

After a long moment, Erik spoke. “Those are the games of a weak man. Strong men honour strength in others. They match respect and loyalty. Your Aethelred–he is weak. I am glad I did not get the chance to strike a deal with him.”

Aethelflaed turned to look at Erik. He was still gazing up at the stars. The moon lit the soft creases around his eyes. Not only was he a handsome man, but he understood her. He heard her opinions on her husband and did not ridicule her or shame her. He simply agreed with her.

Perhaps Erik was more dangerous than he had first appeared. A man like this could be her downfall.

* * *

They talked late into the night, though Erik was exhausted from the day. He kept expecting Aethelflaed to rise and wake one of her men to replace her, perhaps the leader of the guard who was always at her side, but she didn’t. He was loath to sleep while she stayed awake. This time with her felt too precious to waste.

He told her stories of his childhood in Jorvik, and what he remembered of Norway. He made her laugh when he described the night Sigefrid had tried to play a prank on his younger brother, sneaking up on him in the dark like the shadow walkers in their mother’s tale. In the end, it was Sigefrid who fell victim, as young Erik had gone to sleep with a knife ready, and stabbed his brother in the leg. Their mother had ignored Sigefrid’s protests in the morning, firmly insisting that the punishment fit the crime. Aethelflaed delighted in the image of Erik as a young boy, triumphantly bringing down his own brother in the darkness. Erik savoured the sound of her laughter. It seemed to warm him; in her company he didn’t notice the brisk wind cutting through his still-damp clothes.

Too soon, the sky began to lighten, shifting from black to a soft grey. Erik resented the coming dawn, even as he struggled to keep his eyelids open. Without realizing he had dozed off, he snapped back awake to see Aethelflaed standing, silhouetted against the grey sky.

“I’m trusting that you’re too tired to run,” she said, not turning to look at him, “Get some sleep, Erik. The journey isn’t over yet.”

He meant to watch where she went, thinking he would rise and follow her, but he was already dozing off.

* * *

Aethelflaed stood in the cold stream, the current tugging at her calves. The Danes and Northmen bathed often, more than the Saxons. They took care in their appearance. She had been taught that vanity was a sin, but as she dipped her limbs in the cool, fresh water, washing away the days of mud and sweat, she doubted this teaching. The elaborate braids and hairstyles of the Danish men and women, the intricate tattoos that covered their bodies, and the colourful dyes they used for their clothes–wasn’t this art? Didn’t it show care for themselves and each other? In Christianity, such care and beauty was only spent on sacred objects. But maybe there was something sacred about loving oneself, one’s own body.

So this was the danger. A few hours talking to a Northman and she was beginning to question her entire belief system. No wonder so many powerful men wanted to push out the heathens–how do you keep your women in line when there are handsome, charming men ready to talk them away from everything they’ve ever known?

Aethelflaed bent to splash cold water on her face, hoping it would clear her head. Her body was weary, but she felt a giddy energy every time she thought of Erik. She wanted more time with him. But then she thought of the days ahead: the exchange of prisoners, the journey back to her home, the inevitable return of her husband. This was nothing more than diversion. It felt good now, but the closer she got to him, the more painful it would be when they had to part. Aethelflaed emerged from the water and wrapped herself in a dry linen, reaching for her clothing. _I will not be weak_ , she vowed. _I will not let this man undo me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing says romance like dissing your husband, amirite?


	5. Chapter 5

In the days that followed, Aethelflaed avoided being alone with Erik. It was easy enough, with the dozen guards and Mildryd always close at hand. One evening, she caught him staring at her across the fire. He smiled casually and turned to Eardwulf, who was telling a rousing story, but she had caught the intensity in his gaze. It frightened and thrilled her, like that kiss in the alehouse. She vowed once more to keep her distance.

But as they neared Beomfleet, the rode became more risky, and the attack Wulfric had long feared came to pass. They were ambushed while they were watering their horses at a small stream. Though her men were prepared, their weapons never out of reach, the bandits had been lying in wait, watching for Aethelflaed’s party to relax. And so there was a sense of panic as her guards began to fight back.

Aethelflaed had been returning to the group after a short walk to stretch her legs. As she stepped into the clearing, she saw that her path was blocked. One of the bandits stood with his back to her, cutting her off from her men and her weapons. She was armed only with the long knife she kept in her belt and it was meagre compared to the attacker’s sword. She turned and ran, hoping she could put distance between them before the man noticed her.

But she wasn’t fast enough. He was close on her heels, and as she skidded down a small bank to the stream’s edge, he caught up with her. She brandished her knife but he grinned and stepped towards her, forcing her to back up. She could feel herself beginning to slip on the loose, wet rocks that lined the stream.

It had been months since Aethelflaed had fought, and even then, only in training, with the certainty of safety. Aethelred did not want a warrior for a wife, and Aethelflaed had given up her lessons to appease him, back when she still thought she could. Now, she felt terrified and woefully unprepared.

But it was the man’s cockiness that saved her. He did not expect her to fight back at all. He took his time approaching her, muttering lecherous threats before seizing her chin in his hand, forcing her to meet his eye. While he spoke, she dug through her memories, seizing on everything she remembered from Steapa’s training. And before he could raise his axe, she screamed, as loud and as forcefully as she could.

The man stumbled back, caught off guard by the sheer anger of her scream. Because it wasn’t the scream of a victim: it was the yell of a warrior. As Aethelflaed caught her breath, she also recovered her confidence.

She pushed forward, slashing at him with the knife. The man fought back, seizing her by the arm to stop her movements. But she caught his bicep with her knife and he cried out in pain, releasing her from his grip. This time, she was able to stab him in the side, though she didn’t get very deep before he swung his sword, forcing her to dodge his blow. She slipped, falling on the rocks, dropping her knife, and still did not fully escape his sword. It skimmed her cheek and the blood began to flow fast and warm. She touched the wound, not thinking clearly, wanting only to stop the pain. When the initial shock had passed, she reached for her knife again. But her hands were slippery with blood and she could not grip the handle. The attacker was looming over her and she was running out of luck.

Until he was jerked back, pulled off his feet by someone behind him. Aethelflaed seized the moment and scrambled to her feet, hastily wiping her hands on her dress and grabbing her knife. Only then did she take in the scene before her: Erik was using the rope that bound his wrists to strangle the man. The man was writhing and scratching at Erik’s arms and hands.

“Stab him, princess. He’s strong. I can’t hold him much longer.”

Aethelflaed obeyed her prisoner, plunging her knife into the man’s chest, deep enough to kill. The man choked out one last breath, then slid to the ground, lifeless.

Erik was gasping for breath, strained from the effort of holding the much larger man. Aethelflaed had fully recovered her senses now, and reacted quickly. She pulled her knife from the dead man’s chest, wiped it off on his tunic, then sliced through the first layer of rope at Erik’s wrists, unraveling his ties as quickly as possible. She pulled out her water skin and splashed some water on his hands and wrists, hoping to clean the wounds from the attacker’s nails and from days of binding. Finally, she passed Erik the skin, watching as he gulped down the rest of the water.

Erik looked up at her. She waited for him to speak, but instead, he reached out. His hand came up, cupping her face. _Was this it? Would he kiss her?_ She expected him to pull her close. But instead, he gently pressed his thumb to her cheek.

“You’re bleeding badly, princess,” he whispered. “You’ll need tending to.”

At the sound of footsteps approaching, his hand fell away from her face. Wulfric appeared at the top of the bank, weapon ready. Aethelflaed could see the panic in his eyes. He would blame himself for any harm that came to her.

“It’s alright, Wulfric. I’m alright,” she smiled up at him reassuringly as he helped her up the slope.

“You’re bleeding, lady.”

“Just a small cut. The rest of the blood is the dead man’s, I promise.”

Wulfric cast a glance at Erik, who was following them back towards the clearing.

“And the prisoner? Do you think they were friends of his?”

Aethelflaed was surprised by Wulfric’s suspicion. It hadn’t occurred to her that Erik would be in league with the attackers. She truly was blinded by his charm.

“No, I don’t think so. He helped me kill the man. If not for Lord Erik, I’d be dead now.” Before Wulfric could respond, Aethelflaed changed the subject. “How are the others? Any losses?”

“None on our side. We killed three of their men and the rest ran off. Eardwulf is badly wounded, though. He’ll live, but he won’t be able to travel much further.”

Aethelflaed felt a rush of relief. “We’ll leave him in the next town with Mildryd to care for him. He can recover until we pass through on our way home.”

When they arrived in the clearing, Wulfric busied himself packing their things. It was Erik who sat Aethelflaed down and dressed her wound. He washed the blood from her face, his hands gentle and practiced.

“Thank you,” she murmured, as he secured the bandage. “I– I owe you my life.”

His expression softened. “You owe me nothing.”


	6. Chapter 6

The next day, they stopped mere miles from Beomfleet. Eardwulf and Mildryd were safely over the border in Saxon Mercia. The time had come to arrange the trade.

“We should send a man up to the fort, lady, to inform them of our hostage,” Wulfric offered. “We don’t want to get too close where we can be caught.”

Aethelflaed nodded. “We’ll send Osgar. He has the best knowledge of Norse and Danish. We’ll need a token. Some proof that Lord Erik is truly with us.” She turned to the Northman, who looked less like a prisoner than ever. They had not retied him the day before, and he had used his free hands to clean himself up. His beard and hair were carefully braided and his clothes were repaired with the needle and thread Aethelflaed had lent him. He was more handsome than ever, and she felt her heart race a little when she looked at him.

“Lord Erik, what can you give us that will convince your brother that you are with us?”

Erik sighed and tugged a pendant from beneath his tunic, pulling it over his head. “This pendant, passed down from our mother. And some words. In Norse.” He nodded at Osgar. “Do you think you can remember them?”

In a matter of moments, Osgar was on his way to the fort, carrying their message to Sigefrid.

* * *

While they waited for the messenger to return, Aethelflaed felt herself grow nauseous. There were still so many things that could go wrong. Sigefrid could refuse the exchange. Uhtred could be harmed, or worse, killed. They could be ambushed while they waited, or while they approached Beomfleet. And even if it all went smoothly, Erik would be gone, out of her life for good. Even with her caution, she knew her feelings had grown too much. It would hurt to leave without him.

As if he could read her thoughts, Erik approached. Wulfric was on edge as well, and he stood, protective of his lady in this crucial time.

“I wish to speak with Lady Aethelflaed,” Erik looked past Wulfric, meeting Aethelflaed’s gaze, then back to her guard, “alone.”

Wulfric did not budge until Aethelflaed laid her hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright. We’ll walk towards the river, refill the water for the horses. We’ll be close.”

Wulfric looked doubtful but did not challenge her, instead casting a quick glance to her waist to see she was armed.

* * *

When they were out of earshot of the guards, Erik spoke.

“I wanted a moment with you before the trade, princess. I wanted to thank you.”

Aethelflaed looked up in surprise. “Thank me? For what?”

Erik smiled, turning to face her. “You have been a merciful captor. I never imagined I would so enjoy being a hostage.”

Aethelflaed couldn’t help but smile back. “I never imagined I would so enjoy the company of a heathen.”

Erik laughed, then grew quiet. They had reached the river before he spoke again.

“But I am not the only heathen you know, yes? They say you care for Uhtred Ragnarson. They say you are close.”

She could hear the implication in his words. She had heard it many times before, but not so tactfully. Ever since her marriage there had been questions about her relationship to Uhtred. And when she was traveling the country, determined to secure his ransom, the rumours had only grown.

But for Erik to ask, and so indirectly–this was different. He did not mean to shame her. So why? Was he jealous? Nothing had happened between the two of them. He had no claim on her. Still, Aethelflaed wanted to be honest.

“Uhtred is my good friend. He has known me my whole life, even when I was a little girl. He has saved myself and my family many times. I hope to return the favour by bringing him back to his wife, who he is so devoted to.”

Erik did not respond, but she could see his eyes crease with a smile that didn’t quite reach his mouth. He was relieved.

Erik bent to fill the buckets from the stream. Aethelflaed hung back, seizing the opportunity to gaze upon him one last time. His light hair shone gold in the sunlight, but she could see red hairs in his beard, slightly overgrown after the long journey. The thick muscles in his arms stood out as he lifted the heavy buckets to the shore, and for a moment she imagined–well, impossible things. Things that would never come to pass.

Far too soon he was done his task and she joined him in lifting the full buckets, holding them carefully so as not to spill. As they started back towards the camp, he spoke again, his voice so low she had to lean closer to hear him.

“I hope, Lady Aethelflaed, that you might count me among your friends. Though I have not served you as Uhtred has.”

“I’m not sure what friendship can exist between us, when your brother seems bent on taking down my family,” Aethelflaed kept her voice light, trying to gently remind herself and Erik of all that stood between them. “I think we are doomed to be enemies.”

“I am not my brother,” he replied, his voice still serious. “You must know that. You must know that if you call on me, I will answer.”

His words shook Aethelflaed. She had not expected this. This was not mere flattery in the moonlight. He was making her a vow. Could she accept it?

But before she could answer, they were back at the camp and Wulfric was helping her with the buckets. Erik moved away, focusing his attention on the horses.


	7. Chapter 7

The exchange of prisoners went smoothly. They met in an open field not far from Beomfleet. Erik was pleased to see his brother, though Sigefrid began cursing him as soon as the parties met. Sigefrid made some choice suggestions about the contents of Erik’s breeches as justification for why he got himself caught by a woman, “and a Saxon one at that.” Erik rolled his eyes and pulled his older brother into a hug. Sigefrid could switch from enraged to jovial in a heartbeat, and his scolding didn’t frighten Erik.

Uhtred whooped at the sight of Aethelflaed, who grinned widely to see her old friend. When she dismounted, Uhtred wrapped her in a fierce hug, lifting her clean off her feet and loudly proclaiming her victory over the heathens. She laughed as he lowered her to the ground. Erik felt a pang of jealousy. He envied Uhtred’s freedom with Aethelflaed. But that too, he reminded himself, came at a price. Even in Beomfleet they had heard rumours that Aethelflaed was too intimate with Uhtred. A lady of her position took great risks for any kind of relationship, even one so innocent and platonic.

“What do you say, Daneslayer,” Sigefrid was shouting to his enemy, though his tone was light and easy, as if the two men had become comfortable with each other. “Will you and your party join us for a feast in the fort? To celebrate your freedom and Erik’s return.”

Uhtred smirked. “How stupid do you think I am, Sigefrid? Then you’d have Alfred’s warrior and Alfred’s daughter in your grasp. You can’t trick me again, not when your ale is so foul.”

Sigefrid shrugged and mounted his horse. Before turning back toward Beomfleet, he called out once more. “Lady Aethelflaed, there’s still time to trade back. I’ll keep your warrior and you can have my brother. I know he’s not much to look at, but he’ll keep your bed warm.”

Sigefrid’s words angered Wulfric. He rallied the guards with a whistle, eager to get his lady away from the crude northmen. But as Sigefrid’s men laughed and the Saxon guards readied to leave, Aethelflaed cast one last glance Erik’s way. He gave her a nod and he saw the ghost of a smile at her lips. It felt like a promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now! Next set of chapters will come soon, I hope? Tell me your thoughts! So far there are no pets in this one. What kind of pet do Erik and Aethelflaed need?


	8. Chapter 8

_One year later._

It was twilight when Aethelflaed finally reached the camp. Her feet were swollen and sore from days of walking. She was grateful for the thick hooded cloak she had brought with her, which guarded her against the brisk wind and kept her face shadowed. She could not be recognized, at least not yet.

The two guards waiting at the edge of the camp noticed her immediately. She held up her hands to show she was unarmed–though she had a knife folded into her dress, just in case–and called out to them through the growing darkness. “I need to see Lord Erik.”

The first guard, shorter with a long beard, approached her, getting too close to her face. She bowed her head, praying the hood and the shadows would keep her features vague. He said something in Danish, and though she didn’t understand the words, she knew he was trying to intimidate her.

“I need to speak with Lord Erik,” she repeated firmly.

The second man grinned at her, but it wasn’t a friendly grin. “You need to have a drink with us. Keep us company.”

Aethelflaed tugged a small pouch from her belt. “Silver coins. All I have. It’s yours if you take me to your lord.”

The taller man looked doubtful, so she shook the purse, letting the coins jingle against each other. He swatted, trying to grab the purse, but she pulled it away. “Just walk me through the camp. Easy money.” He sighed and muttered in Danish, then turned and led her into the camp.

Aethelflaed kept her eyes on the ground. She did not want to make eye contact with any of the warriorsdrinking and laughing around the fires. But she passed unnoticed; there were many women in the camp already, nothing remarkable about one more.

The man came to an abrupt stop and turned, his hand outstretched. Aethelflaed took a stubborn step back.

“Where is Lord Erik?”

The man pointed across the nearest fire, and she saw a blonde man, laughing at something his companion had said. Yes, that was his laugh, but harsher then she’d ever heard it. Had he changed? Had she made a mistake coming here?

“Silver.” The guard was still waiting. She handed him the purse, and he grinned again. “Lord Erik,” he shouted, catching the attention of the men around the fire. “You have a visitor.” Before any of the men could react, the guard had slipped off into the darkness.

* * *

Erik sighed and eased to his feet. He was still recovering from a blow to his leg in battle and he felt a jolt of pain as he walked around the fire. It was dark, too dark to see who was waiting for him. A woman, he judged, though he could barely make out her shape under her heavy cloak.

When he was near enough to see her face, he couldn’t believe it. It was his mind playing tricks. He had carried Aethelflaed’s image in his thoughts for so long that now he was confused, mistaking some poor whore for the Lady of Mercia. But then she spoke.

“You helped me once before, Lord Erik. Are you foolish enough to help me again?”

Her soft voice was soon drowned out by the jeers and laughter from his comrades nearby. Erik took her by the arm and pulled her away from the fire.


	9. Chapter 9

They had escaped into the peace and quiet of his tent, but still, he had not spoken. He watched her remove her cloak, his eyes lingering on the curves of her body, the unexpected swell of her stomach. She sighed in relief as she eased off her boots. She unconsciously rested her hand on her belly, but lowered it when she saw him staring.

Erik poured some fresh water into a mug and handed it to her. When he drew close, he saw shadows around her neck. Bruises? It was too difficult to tell in the faint light of the torch.

“Aren’t you going to ask me why I’m here?” Aethelflaed wondered, as Erik prepared a plate of food for her.

“Do you want to tell me?”

She didn’t respond.

“Sit, eat,” he insisted, handing her the plate. “There will be time to talk.”

She settled down on the bed of furs and dug into the food.

* * *

Her journey had been long and Aethelflaed was famished. She had not carried enough food to fuel herself and her unborn baby through three days of walking. She finished the food quickly and drained the mug three times, Erik refilling it without her having to ask. When her plate was clear, she set it aside and looked up at him.

“More?” he asked.

She shook her head, and after a moment, he sat down as well.

Aethelflaed took a deep breath and began.

“Ever since I became pregnant, Aethelred has been…difficult.”

“Here I thought he already was difficult,” Erik muttered.

“He’s worse. Much worse. He says he is being protective of me and the child but– I have no freedoms. I cannot attend meetings as they would be too tiring. I cannot walk outside the house for fear of an attack or an accident. He would not allow me even to travel to Winchester to see my own family. He does not trust me to do anything, not even run my own household. And he does not trust anyone around me. I am not allowed any visitors. I–”

Aethelflaed could feel herself growing too angry. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, willing herself not to cry or scream. She rubbed her stomach, feeling the soothing presence of her constant companion.

“I am his prisoner,” she continued. “He has absolute control over my life. Nothing satisfies him. Everyday is a battle.”

She opened her eyes and gazed at Erik. “He left a few days past, to oversee the construction of a new abbey. I knew your camp was close. I took the chance. I left.”

Erik stared back at her, seemingly in shock. “You walked here, from Oxenford, alone.”

Aethelflaed nodded and once again felt like she might weep.

Erik continued. “You walked into a Danish camp at night, unarmed and with child.”

“I have a knife, actually.”

Erik laughed. “You haven’t changed, princess. I met your husband, a few months back. He travelled with Uhtred to meet with me and Sigefrid.”

“I heard you beat him.”

Erik shook his head. “Beat him? No. I punched him once. Maybe he fell over. Maybe I kicked him too. But I certainly didn’t beat him.”

Aethelflaed smiled in spite of herself. “I would have liked to see that.” She straightened her back and stared at him directly. “Erik: I know I only bring trouble. I know I shouldn’t have come. If you choose to send me back, I understand.”

Erik stood and shook his head, “No. You are here now. I will do everything I can for you. And to begin, I must be sure no one finds you.” He ducked out of the tent.

* * *

Erik walked briskly through the camp, welcoming the cold air on his skin. He felt shaken. He had long hoped that he would see Aethelflaed again, but he could never have imagined this. To have her come to him for help–it terrified and exhilarated him.

He tracked down his most trusted warrior and gave as much information as was safe. A woman had come to him. She was with child (he let the man believe the child was his–why else would the woman seek him out?). Anytime Erik was not in the tent, it needed to be watched. No one was to enter.

With that arranged, he strode back to his tent, eager to get back to Aethelflaed. Erik was relieved that Sigefrid was gone. He had not agreed with the planned raid when his brother had sailed off, but now he was grateful for the extra time. Sigefrid would only see ways to profit from Aethelflaed’s situation. Erik needed to get her out of the camp before his brother returned.

When Erik re-entered the tent, Aethelflaed was standing in the far corner, knife in hand. He instantly regretted leaving her alone in this place, even for a brief time.

“It’s alright, princess. It’s just me.”

Aethelflaed dropped the knife and threw her arms around him. The embrace caught him off guard, but he reacted, holding her close. Erik expected she would begin to cry, but she surprised him once again, pulling back only so she could lean up and kiss him.

They kissed longer, deeper. All the desire Aethelflaed had denied the year before rose to the surface, and she was eager for more: more touch, more heat. But before she could push further, Erik stopped her, taking her firmly by the shoulders and putting her at arm’s length.

“Princess,” he said as she caught her breath, “you do not owe me this. I mean to keep you safe, no matter what. You owe me nothing in return. You can share my tent without sharing my bed.”

Aethelflaed shrugged off his words and kissed him again, then buried her face in his neck. “I do this because I want to. Because I want you. Erik,” she gazed up at him, “don’t you want me?”

All his resolve melted and he drew her in for another kiss. This time, he held nothing back.


	10. Chapter 10

They lay together in the soft bed of furs, face to face. Aethelflaed had fallen asleep, but now she stirred and shivered, feeling the night air against her skin, still damp from the sweat of lovemaking. Erik drew a blanket up to cover her and she sighed at the warmth. His gaze ran up her bare shoulders to the soft curve of his throat. Yes, she was bruised there. He had heard her wince when he kissed her neck, the subtle sound of pain prompting him to be more gentle with his touch.

“How could he do this to you,” Erik whispered.

Aethelflaed smiled, a small, sad smile. “Who would stop him?”

“Your father is one of the most powerful men in the land. I do not understand how his daughter can be harmed in her own home and he does nothing.”

“Erik, you know that men are not punished for how they treat their wives. Not among your people and certainly not among mine. Especially not when such a punishment could start a war between kingdoms.”

Erik rolled on to his back, his fists clenched in anger. He knew what men were capable of. He had witnessed the violence of men, suffered it, even performed it. But that was on the battlefield. He had never understood the drive to exercise brutal power in one’s own home. And Aethelflaed? Was there no one in her life to stand up for her? No one who felt even a fraction of the care he felt for her?

“What of Wulfric? The captain of your guard. He would fall on his own sword before letting you come to harm. Why didn’t he escort you here?”

Aethelflaed sighed. “Aethelred sent him away months ago. Dismissed him from my service. He sent away all the men who were loyal to me.” She had wept when Wulfric had left–he had been a good friend to her for so long–and Aethelred had taken her grief as proof that his jealousy was justified.

“He viewed Wulfric as a threat?” Erik asked.

“Of course he did. Wulfric was too kind to me. Don’t you know, Erik? No man would bother to treat me with respect unless he wanted me in his bed.” Aethelflaed’s tone was sarcastic, and he saw she wanted to speak of other things.

“I’m afraid I might prove Aethelred right on that count, princess” Erik replied, reaching under the blanket to run his hands down her side, causing her to tremble. “I have been dreaming about taking you to bed since the first night I saw you.”

Aethelflaed giggled as his rough fingers grazed her thigh. “Tell me, was it just as you imagined it?”

“In my dreams, you were always right here,” Erik pulled her over, placing her knees on either side of his hips, “riding me.” He ran his hands up her torso, then placed her hands on his shoulders. “And you were rough.” He guided her hands, dragging her nails down his chest.

Aethelflaed’s breath caught in her throat as she felt the muscles of his torso, her nails scraping past the black lines of tattoos and the white lines of old scars. “Why would I be rough with you?”

“You were my captor, princess. You were in command.”

She leaned forward, as if to kiss him, but stopped just shy of his lips. “I’m not a princess,” she whispered, “Wessex has no princess.”

Erik’s hands traced down her back and rested on her ass. “You are _my_ princess.”

“Call me by my name,” she commanded, gripping his arm too tight, pressing with her nails until he gasped.

“Princess,” he replied.

She bent and skimmed her lips down his neck, pausing on his shoulder. “Say my name,” she hissed, before biting into the tough flesh, drawing a groan from Erik.

“Princess.”

She smiled at his stubbornness. “Say it and I’ll ride you, like you dreamt.”

A mischievous grin stretched across Erik’s face. “Aethelflaed.” He breathed her name like it was a secret. She lowered her hips, taking him inside her.


	11. Chapter 11

Erik had been lying awake for what felt like hours, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t keep under control. Most mornings, he would wake early and walk, savouring the camp at its quietest. But Aethelflaed was asleep beside him, and this time with her was too precious to waste. He rolled onto his side, folding his body around hers.

She stirred against his chest. “Erik,” she sighed.

“Did I wake you?”

“No,” he could hear the grin on her face, her voice relaxed and content, “the child did. Want to feel?”

Erik slid his arm around her waist and she took hold of his hand, placing it on her stomach. He felt the movement under the surface. _A fighter, like their mother_ , he thought, feeling the force of the baby’s kicks.

He nuzzled his face into her hair, kissing her neck. “How soon?”

“The midwife told me it would happen in the fall. She said it was good fortune to give birth at harvest time. She told me people everywhere would be celebrating the harvest, and my baby would be born into a happy world. I don’t know that I believe her.” Aethelflaed tugged Erik’s hand up to her lips, kissing his palm and the soft flesh of his wrist. After a moment, she turned to face him. “What will we do?”

Erik felt the trust in her gaze. He felt the movement in her belly, pressed against his own. He felt the warmth of her body. He would do anything for this woman. But for all his cunning, all his schemes and strategies, he didn’t have a plan for this.

* * *

Aethelflaed spent the day in the tent. Though she longed to breath fresh air, she knew it was not safe to be out in the camp. Word might have spread of her absence. For all its strife and division, England was an awfully small island when it came to gossip. She could not take the risk of being recognized or questioned.

Erik stayed with her as much as he could. She was grateful that Sigefrid was away. That man scared her. He did not have his brother’s charm. He was the type of Northman that Saxons truly feared, a warrior driven by chaos and greed. Though she knew that the brothers worked side by side, Aethelflaed could not fully reconcile her lover with that fearsome warlord. Luckily, her desire for Erik seemed to drive the doubts right out of her mind. He was gentle with her, and that is what she needed now.

That evening, Aethelflaed was lying on her back in the furs, trying to ride out the nausea that was keeping her from eating supper. Erik finished eating and took it upon himself to entertain her while she rested. He was telling her stories of the Christian god and his son, based on what he had gleaned from the churches he had raided and the priests who had tried to convert him over the years. Aethelflaed was soon laughing so much she forgot her nausea completely. Erik’s version of Christianity was a mishmash of different tale of saints and Erik’s wild imagination. Erik occasionally stumbled on an accurate detail, but he embellished everything, such that the whole character of God become completely unrecognizable.

“And that, my heathen child, is why married women must cover their hair,” he concluded, assuming the voice of a patronizing priest. Aethelflaed rolled over, still shaking with laughter, and swatted at him, trying to make him stop.

Then she heard a voice at the door. She sat up and looked at the tent’s entrance, into the wide eyes of a young woman. The woman had long blonde hair twisted into elaborate braids. She wore thick eyeliner that drew attention to her deep dark eyes. She was beautiful.

The woman stared back at Aethelflaed, then turned to Erik. She spoke to him in Danish, her voice calm and familiar as she entered the tent. She began to pour herself a cup of wine, still speaking, and nodded over at Aethelflaed.

Aethelflaed had been too focused on the woman to notice Erik’s reaction, but his expression was stern, with no trace of the good humour from just moments before. He rose and took the woman by the arm, firmly leading her towards the door of the tent. She protested, especially when the wine in her cup splashed on her dress, but Erik ignored her words, pulling her through the tent flap and out of sight.

After a moment, he re-entered. He still looked stern and commanding, and Aethelflaed stood up quickly, suddenly intimidated. Erik saw her scramble to her feet and he looked ashamed. His shoulders fell as he dropped the performance of the commanding warrior, and he ran his hands over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, into his palms.

“For what?” Aethelflaed asked.

“For…that. For her. She shouldn’t have come here.”

“And who was…she?”

He dropped his hands but didn’t look at her, hoping she wouldn’t make him say it.

“She was very beautiful,” Aethelflaed said, after a moment’s silence.

Erik still did not speak.

“She seemed quite comfortable in your tent.” Aethelflaed continued.

Erik groaned.

“Perhaps I should find somewhere else to sleep tonight? Leave the two of you alone.”

Erik finally looked up and saw the slight smile on Aethelflaed’s face. “You’re teasing me.”

“You made it so easy.”

He walked towards her and pulled her into his arms. “You aren’t jealous,” he whispered, clearly relieved.

“I don’t have any right to be,” she muttered into his shoulder. “I just walked into your life yesterday. You don’t have to answer to me. You could have all the women in this camp.” But then she drew back, staring at him intently. “But of course I’m jealous. I’m a very unreasonable woman. I don’t want you to be thinking about beautiful blonde Danes while you’re lying next to me. I want you all to myself.”

Erik laughed and pulled her into his arms again. “Then you’re in luck, princess, because I’m yours.”


	12. Chapter 12

“I need to leave.”

Aethelflaed’s voice was decisive. Erik thought she had been asleep. As usually, he was up early, lying awake, thoughts racing.

“No.”

“Erik, you can’t hide me in your tent forever. There are good reasons you kept me from the men in this camp, but I can’t stay here. Sigefrid will be back soon. And you won’t be able to control this situation any longer.”

Erik sighed. She was right. Erik did not love power but he did like control, so he was often happy to be in charge. But Sigefrid was above Erik’s orders. And his older brother wouldn’t understand this...this mess Erik was in. What was there to understand? Erik was sheltering–and fucking–the runaway wife of the Lord of Mercia. _And_ she was King Alfred’s daughter. _And_ she was pregnant. It was a tangle of politics and emotions that Sigefrid would have no sympathy for.

“Then we leave, together.”

Aethelflaed snuggled into Erik’s side, laying her head on his chest. She wasn’t about to argue with him. The only thing that terrified her more than walking out of that tent was doing it without Erik by her side.

“Where will we go?” she asked.

Erik didn’t hesitate. “Easy. We go into Mercia. We find Aethelred. We kill Aethelred.”

Aethelflaed pushed herself up into a sitting position, drawing her knees up to her chest. Then she glared down at Erik. “We’ve been over this. You are not killing him.”

“Then you can do it, my love.”

“Erik. No. I won’t be responsible for starting a war.”

Erik groaned. That first night and day, they had not spoken of what came next, too lost in each other. But by the third day, they’d had the same argument so many times that they both knew their parts by heart. “We are already at war. You will not be starting anything. We have never stopped being at war.”

“It has been months since any battles. There is a kind of peace. Even Sigefrid sees it, or he would be raiding in my lands instead of fighting the Scots.” Erik fell back onto the blankets, rolling his eyes at Aethelflaed’s words. “You know I’m right, Erik. If you kill Aethelred now, more violence will follow. It’s not worth it. My own happiness is not worth it.”

His head snapped up then, and he sat up, staring at her intently. “You are worth everything.”

“If I am worth everything, then I am worth listening to. Aethelred lives, at least for now.”

Erik sighed. “Well then, princess. Where can we go?”

“There is only one place where we will be welcome. We must go south.”

Erik nodded. “To Uhtred.”

* * *

While Erik collected supplies for their journey, he spoke to his warrior, Dagfinn, warning the man that he would be gone by morning.

“What should I tell Lord Sigefrid?”

“Tell him I had business elsewhere and I’ll be back when I can.”

Dagfinn was Erik’s man and would usually accept such a vague explanation, but he had a healthy fear of Sigefrid, so he pressed for more details. “And if he wants to move camp before you return?”

“Then I will meet you on the road. A huge camp of Northmen and Danes isn’t difficult to find.”

“But Lord–”

Erik turned to the anxious warrior, placing his hands on the man’s shoulders. “I will be gone for a while. It is not the end of the world. Haesten will manage the camp, Sigefrid will return, everyone will drink. By some miracle, you will find a beautiful woman willing to put up with your ugly face, for one night. No one will care where I am.” Dagfinn grinned and nodded. But despite Erik’s confident tone, they both knew things could go much worse. If Sigefrid’s raid went poorly, he would return angry, and Erik’s absence might be the thing to push him from belligerent to murderous. But Erik had no time to worry about that.

“Now, Dagfinn, I need a horse. A calm, steady horse, not too large. Help me look.”

* * *

They left after only a few hours sleep, while the sky was dark and the camp was quiet. Though the days were long and hot now, this early hour carried a chill, and Aethelflaed was once again wrapped in the thick cloak that kept her warm and helped disguise her. Erik led the horses through the camp, nodding to the guards who sat up keeping watch.

As they left the tents behind them and prepared to mount the horses, Erik paused.

“Do you see that, princess?”

Aethelflaed followed his gaze to the full moon, bright and low in the sky.

“Máni will guide our path tonight,” Erik whispered, “we will be safe under his light.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 to come soon!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff

Their journey south was mercifully smooth. They kept off the main roads and took detours when necessary, careful to avoid other travellers as much as possible. Neither of them could afford a confrontation.

They rode peacefully, stopping often to rest their horses or explore the countryside. To Aethelflaed’s surprise, Erik was in no hurry to get her to Coccham, or get back to his own camp. She was relieved; after all, she might never be so alone with him again. Against her better judgment, she was falling more in love with him every moment. He was smart enough to keep up with her in conversation, and she never felt the need to dim herself so he could shine a little brighter. He was gentle and good-humoured, and she felt herself relax around him, releasing the tension she carried with her from months of anticipating Aethelred’s temper. Erik was a good man. Aethelflaed prayed to her god that she could keep him, but she knew her god didn’t care.

They had stopped to eat on the shores of a small lake. It was a hot summer day and Aethelflaed couldn’t resist the cool, clear water. As she stood and began to undress, she felt self-conscious; Erik had seen her body in the dim light of the tent or by moonlight, but never by daylight. But when she glanced his way, he was lying in the grass with his eyes closed.

She waded deep into the water, sighing in relief at the sweet feeling of floating. Her back was sore from the weight of her growing belly and from long hours of riding. She lay back in the water and gazed up at the sky. The sky was thick with clouds but the day was still hot and the cold water was soothing.

When Aethelflaed looked back at the shore, she saw Erik shedding his clothes.

“What are you doing?”

“Joining you,” he replied, wading towards her.

“You are meant to stay ashore. What if someone should come upon us? Unclothed and unarmed?”

Erik dove under the water and re-emerged in front of her. “You’re too used to everyone serving you, princess. I’m not your guard. Besides,” he grinned at her, “I fight better when I’m naked.”

Aethelflaed shook her head in frustration, then leaned back and kicked the water, splashing Erik directly in the face. He cried out in surprise.

“You forget that I’m a warrior too,” she laughed, splashing him once more before turning to swim away while he gave chase.

* * *

The next evening, they built a small fire. They had avoided fires as much as possible–smoke was sure to draw attention–but it had rained most of the afternoon and their clothes were damp and cold. Erik looked at Aethelflaed across the flames, wrapped tight in her cloak. He remembered that damp night a year before when he had fought to stay awake just for the chance to speak with her.

Aethelflaed shivered as she laid out the bedroll. Erik stoked the fire once more, adding another log, and settled down alongside her. She lay between him and the fire, her back against his chest. She pulled his arm tight around her, making herself as snug as possible, and sighed contentedly.

“Are you comfortable, princess?”

“I know you’re teasing me, but I am,” she muttered, “for the first time all day.”

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you a bed in an alehouse. I imagine you’re used to fine lodgings, not damp grass and musty furs.”

He had dropped his mocking tone and there was a note of remorse in his voice. Aethelflaed lifted his hand to her lips, gently kissing his knuckles. “Erik,” she whispered into the rough heal of his palm, “I have never been so happy. You must believe that.”

He sighed in relief and buried his face into her neck. “I don’t understand it, but I believe it.”

She smiled into the darkness. Even his humility was attractive to her. He did not take her for granted.

“Now,” Aethelflaed adopted the imperious tone she used to order her guards, “no more talking. I am determined to fall asleep before this baby wakes up and starts kicking again.”

Erik chuckled softly. “Yes, princess.”

* * *

Aethelflaed urged her mare to halt, leaned over as far as she could, and threw up. She sat back up quickly, and the rush of movement set off another wave of nausea. She shut her eyes tight and leaned forward on her horse.

“It’s a good horse that won’t even spook when you’re sick off it.”

Erik’s tone was light and Aethelflaed groaned back at him resentfully. After another moment of burying her face into the horse’s mane, she felt the nausea finally pass. _No_. _Here it was._ She slid off the horse, landed on her knees on the road, and retched.

After dismounting and tying the horses to a nearby tree, Erik came to join Aethelflaed on the ground. He pulled back her loose hair, weaving it into a quick braid to keep it out of the way. He rubbed her back and spoke to her in Norse, his voice soft and soothing.

“I don’t even know what you’re saying,” Aethelflaed muttered, wiping her hand across her mouth and sitting up.

“Oh, just dirty filthy things about what I’d like to do to you tonight,” Erik replied, offering her a drink of water. “What’s that word your priests use? For things the god doesn’t like.”

“Sinful?” Aethelflaed suggested between gulps.

“That’s what I’m saying–sinful things. Don’t think you Saxons even have the words.”

She laughed and leaned back against his chest.

“Should you be sick like this, this far along?”

Aethelflaed heard the worry in Erik’s voice. “I don’t think it’s typical, but my mother was sick all through, with all of us. I remember with my youngest siblings.” She felt the sweat on her brow. “I can’t get back on that horse.”

“We can walk to the next town. Get a bed in an inn.”

“Can we risk it?”

“Can you manage another night sleeping on the ground?”

She sighed. “No.”

“Then we’ll go into town,” Erik helped her to her feet. “But we need to take precautions. False names. Wear your veil. And we need to blend in, so try not to look so beautiful?”

Aethelflaed grimaced at him. “I just vomited in the mud.”

Erik leaned his forehead against hers. “But you did it beautifully, princess.”

* * *

By the time they arrived in the nearest town and stabled their horses, Aethelflaed has passed from nauseous to well and back to nauseous. So she must have looked a little green when the innkeeper led them upstairs.

“Is she going to be sick in my room?” the innkeeper asked, blocking the door as if nervous to let them in.

Erik glanced at Aethelflaed’s face. She had her eyes closed again and was clutching tightly to his arm.

“Probably,” Erik admitted, “but I’ll clean it up. Just bring up some fresh water and you’ll never know we were here.”

The innkeeper looked doubtful, but moved aside anyway. Aethelflaed plopped down on the bed, attempting to lean her head between her knees but coming up against her ever-expanding belly.

“I’ll need payment now, and you’ll need to be out by the second bells tomorrow. That’s for mass,” the innkeeper explained, looking pointedly at the wooden hammer of Thor hanging around Erik’s neck.

Erik paid her in silver, adding too many coins. She smiled at the weight in her palm. “I’ll send up water and bread for your wife. And if her stomach doesn’t settle soon, come find me. There’s a midwife that can see to her.”

Erik thanked her and shut the door, turning back to Aethelflaed. “The last time you pretended to be my wife, I ended up in a world of trouble.”

She smiled weakly at him. “Don’t worry, I don’t have the strength to tie you up this time.”

“That’s a shame.”

Aethelflaed laughed and then leaned forward again, groaning. She retched into the chamberpot he had wisely placed at her feet.

“That has to be the last of it, right? I barely ate anything this morning. There can’t be any more.”

Erik passed her some more water. “Lie down, love. No more horses, just a soft bed beneath you. Enjoy it.”

Aethelflaed stretched out and sighed in relief. The straw-filled mattress felt heavenly after nights sleeping on the hard ground.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning! Threats and smut ahead (not at the same time)

When Aethelflaed awoke, the room was dim. She could hear the sounds of talk and laughter downstairs, in the alehouse. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she looked around the unfamiliar room. It was tidy: the now-clean chamber pot lay beside the bed, with a mug of water beside it, and her spare dress was folded on the mattress next to her. But there was no Erik.

As Aethelflaed rose and changed into the clean dress, she felt a sense of dread rise in her chest. For a week at least, Erik had been by her side day and night. He made her feel safe, safer than she’d felt surrounded by royal guards or snug in her own bed. Without him, she was too vulnerable. Aethelflaed was about to admonish herself for her own weakness when she recognized the cause of her fear: footsteps and voices, growing louder and closer, until the door to the room burst open.

The two men stumbled through the door, bringing a flood of light with them. Aethelflaed backed up, putting as much space between herself and the strangers as she could, but also cornering herself further. She felt a small table at her back, the table that held a pitcher of water and a heavy bowl–weapons she could use to defend herself.

“This ain’t our room,” said one of the men, short and broad with a tangled beard. He looked Aethelflaed up and down, but did not look impressed.

“No, but I think we could make ourselves comfortable here,” sneered the second man, tall and lean. His gaze lingered on Aethelflaed’s body and she did her best not to visibly shudder.

“Oh, leave her. She’s been plowed enough already.” The short man turned to go, but the tall man didn’t follow.

“I’ll catch up with you. Just want to make sure she’s alright. Poor thing, left all on her own.”

As his friend left, the man approached Aethelflaed. He walked slow, like she was an animal who might spook. But of course she was–his prey, weak and waiting for the attack. She reached behind her to wrap her hand around the handle of the jug, but her hand was shaking and she pulled it back so as not to rattle the dishes on the table.

“Now what’s a pretty thing like you doing alone, eh?” The man’s smirk was clear, even in the dark room, and Aethelflaed felt powerless. He was getting close, too close.

“My husband will be back any moment.” To her surprise, her voice was steady.

“We don’t need more than a moment.” His hand reached out, fingers fondling her hair, which still hung in a braid across her shoulder.

“You will not touch me. You will leave me alone.” Aethelflaed voice shook this time, but while she spoke, her hand finally closed on the handle of the jug. She shifted her weight ever so slightly, ready to swing her arm.

“Or what?” the man asked, mockingly. His fingers grazed her cheek.

“Or I’ll slit your throat.”

Aethelflaed and the man both jumped at the voice. The man swung around to face Erik.

“Move along, mate. This room’s taken.” The man clearly thought Erik was just another challenger for Aethelflaed’s body.

“What do you think, love?” Erik spoke to Aethelflaed directly, ignoring the loathsome man in between them. “Should I slit his throat or cut off his balls? Or maybe I should chop off those fingers, the ones he used to touch you.”

“If only I were still feeling ill, I could vomit all over him.”

Erik smiled darkly. “That would be satisfying. Though much less violent. See,” his gaze landed on the man, and his eyes abruptly shifting from gentle to sharp. “My wife is much more merciful than I am. She only thinks of making you a little uncomfortable. Me, I’d like to end your life.”

The man looked truly frightened. “I only spoke to her,” he appealed to Erik, “Nothing more.”

“I’ve killed men for less.”

Aethelflaed moved forward and rested a hand on Erik’s arm. She could feel the tension in his muscles. “Remember our deal, husband. You only kill for me if I ask you too.”

Erik smiled at her, his face softening again. “You’re sure about this one?”

“Let him go.”

Erik sighed and stepped aside, leaving room for the man to scramble out the door, which Aethelflaed shut behind him. She turned and slumped against Erik’s chest and he wrapped his arms around her.

“Alright, princess?”

Aethelflaed shook her head against his shoulder.

* * *

Just as Erik was letting the relief wash over him, Aethelflaed pulled back and glared at him.

“Where were you?”

Erik was caught off guard by the force of her question. She had looked so meek when he entered the room, so vulnerable. _Now_ she was angry? Now she found her strength.

“I was having a drink, just downstairs.”

His response only seemed to anger her more. “I woke up and you were gone, Erik.”

“I’m sorry,” he reached out to touch her shoulder but she pulled back sharply. “I was close. And I got here on time. I–”

“You left me. You left me, asleep, alone, in this strange place with strange men. You should have been here. It’s your duty to–” she stopped abruptly, hearing her own words.

“It’s my duty to what?”

Aethelflaed shook her head and turned away, but Erik was on the offence now. “It’s my duty to guard you? To serve you? I’m not just another one of your men, princess. I’m not here to take your orders and make your life easier.”

“Then why are you here?”

For a long moment, they were both still, silenced by her words: the edge of them, like a blade on the throat. Erik was the first to react, shrugging his shoulders and shaking his head, as if to shake the words off him. “I’m going to sleep. We’ll get an early start.”

He sat heavily on the mattress, facing away from her. Aethelflaed watched as he pulled off his boots and tunic and arranged his weapons by the bed, always within reach.

“Erik–”

“Eat something. You’ll need your strength for tomorrow.” He lay on the bed, his back still to her.

After waiting for something, she wasn’t sure what, Aethelflaed walked to the table where the innkeeper had left the bread. She took a bite, but her mouth tasted too bitter, and she couldn’t bring herself to swallow.

* * *

They were on the road early the next morning, before the sun had fully risen. With Aethelflaed’s long rest the day before and Erik’s insomnia, they had slept little. They rode in silence until the sun was warm on their necks, then stopped to water the horses.

Erik refused to speak first. He had spent much of the night cursing himself for ending up in this situation. This damned woman had him twisted in circles since the moment he met her; the year that had passed between her releasing him and her walking into his camp had done nothing to diminish his feelings. Aethelflaed had become everything to him. His whole life–his brother, his men, the plans for future raids and battles–seemed to fall away the moment she so much as smiled at him. But for her to think so little of him–just another man to serve her–it made him feel like a fool.

When Aethelflaed finally approached, gingerly sitting across from him in the grass, he didn’t look up.

“I’m sorry.”

Erik kept his attention on the knife he was sharpening.

“No one has ever left me alone before. That sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? Like I’m a child.” Aethelflaed laughed, a hollow humourless sound. “But it’s true. I’ve always been watched. Always surrounded by armed men. Even in my own home. Until I set out find your camp, I had not been so alone. When I was a child, I didn’t think much of it. It was normal. And the guards were kind to me and doted on me, just like everyone else. But when I grew up, it changed. I stopped feeling like I was being protected and started to feel like I was being watched. Even with my most loyal guards, anything I did would be reported to my father, my mother, my enemies–whoever. And when I married Aethelred, I finally realized that it wasn’t about safety at all. No one cared if I was hurt, not really. They guarded me to control me, to make sure no one else could get to me, to ensure I couldn’t act on my own.”

Erik put down his tools and looked up at her. She was sitting cross-legged, her hands resting on her stomach, and her hair hanging loose over her shoulders. She looked tired but beautiful, always beautiful.

“But you’re not like any of them,” she continued. “You don’t hover over me, questioning my every choice. You–”

“I trust you.”

Aethelflaed looked up in surprise at his interjection. “You do, don’t you?”

“You can take care of yourself, Aethelflaed. You’re strong and smart. I trust you to make your way in this world.”

“But last night, I didn’t even fight back. I was too frightened. That man could have done anything to me, and I didn’t fight back.”

Erik shrugged. “Maybe you would have fought if I hadn’t come in. Maybe not. And if that man hurt you? It would have been his fault for being a lecherous brute. You’re not responsible for other people’s decisions. Maybe you fight back and it makes him angrier, crueler. Maybe you stay quiet and he leaves. You can’t know. You can’t plan your way out of every mess, Aethelflaed, especially when you’ve been surrounded by other people your whole life.”

Erik held Aethelflaed’s gaze, his eyes intense and direct.

“I will tell you what I know, and you can take it or leave it. That woman in the room last night, scared though she was, was the same ruthless woman who took a Norse warlord prisoner with a few charming words. The same reckless woman who walked her unborn baby into a Danish war camp. The same Saxon princess who even shield maidens gossip about. You are strong, and cunning, and kind, and you will do great things in this world. Sometimes you will get hurt and sometimes you will have regrets, but you are fierce and capable, whether you’re all alone or surrounded by a thousand guards. I have no doubts about you, Lady Aethelflaed.”

Aethelflaed felt her cheeks warm, but this wasn’t mere flirtation. Erik’s words were like a balm. She felt seen in some impossible and wholly necessary way. She leaned forward and kissed him, a deep, desperate kiss that stood in for all the thoughts and feelings she couldn’t yet name. At last, they separated, though she leaned her forehead against his.

“I’m very fortunate you chose to be by my side.”

Her words seemed inadequate after all he’d given her, but he smiled warmly. “Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

* * *

When Erik awoke the next morning, he was surprised to see the sun high in the sky. He hadn’t slept so long and late in years. Aethelflaed was already up, carefully braiding her hair.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” he asked, rising and stretching his stiff muscles.

“I’ve never seen you sleep so deeply. I thought you needed the rest. Besides,” she handed him a skin of water, “there’s no need to rush. We’ll reach Coccham in a few hours.”

Erik was surprised at the regret in her voice. “I thought you’d be happy to see your friends again.”

Aethelflaed sighed and leaned against him, wrapping her arms around his middle. “I am. But it won’t be just us anymore. It won’t be like this.”

He bent his head to kiss her. His lips lingered on the sensitive skin of her neck, drawing a shudder in pleasure. “We should take advantage of this time alone,” he whispered, and nipped at her neck, causing Aethelflaed to moan.

Erik released her suddenly and stepped back, a smug smile on his face.

“What are you thinking about, heathen?”

He laughed. “I’m thinking about tasting you.”

Aethelflaed leaned in to kiss him again but he shook his head. “Lie down, on your back.”

She did as he asked, casting a skeptical look his way. Erik knelt down, gently drawing her knees apart and pushing up her skirts. Aethelflaed leaned back into the grass and smile as she felt his rough hands move up her bare legs.

“This isn’t fair, you know,” she muttered. “I can’t see what you’re doing with this ridiculous stomach in the way.”

Erik shushed her, then dipped his head between her legs. She gasped when she felt his hot breath on her sensitive skin. When he drew his tongue across her sex, she felt a rush of pleasure. Within moments, she was crying out and arching her back. Erik placed his hand on her thighs, holding her still, then looked up at her. “Should I go on, princess?”

“Don’t you dare stop now.”

He laughed and leaned in again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I'll stop having strange creepy men threatening Aethelflaed. Just familiar creepy men? Poor Aethelflaed.


	15. Chapter 15

It was early evening when Coccham appeared on the horizon, though the long summer day kept the sky bright and warm. They had travelled slowly, taking any excuse to stop and drink in each other’s company. But soon it would be nightfall and they needed to make it safely to Uhtred’s hall. First, however, they had to ensure that Aethelred or his men hadn’t beaten them there.

Aethelflaed sheltered in the trees with her horse while Erik travelled ahead. Of course, Coccham was well-guarded, and it wasn’t long before he was spotted by one of Uhtred’s warriors. Erik dismounted and held up his hands, making it clear he was not looking for a fight, and approached the man slowly. He grinned broadly when he recognized the guard.

“Wulfric! Just the Saxon I hoped to find.”

Wulfric looked less enthusiastic; it had been a long time since the men had become friendly on the road to Beomfleet, and even then Wulfric had been cautious, always putting his lady’s safety above all else. Still, he held no ill will to Erik, who had been an unexpectedly ideal prisoner, and he returned the Northman’s smile.

“Have you come to see my Lord Uhtred?”

“Yes, but I want to be clear on what I’m walking into. Does the Lord have any other visitors?”

Wulfric eyed Erik but didn’t respond. He wasn’t in the habit of giving away information.

“Alright, I see,” Erik continued, recognizing Wulfric’s wariness, “Let me ask again: has Lord Uhtred received any word from Lord Aethelred lately? Any of the Mercian guard come to call?”

A look of disdain crossed Wulfric’s face when he heard the Lord of Mercia’s name. He shook his head. “No. From what I hear, Lord Uhtred speaks to his cousin as seldom as possible.”

“And the Lady Aethelflaed?”

Another shake of the head. “The Lady of Mercia hasn’t visited Coccham since before I came here, six moons or so ago.”

“Good, she’ll be pleased to see you, then.”

Wulfric looked puzzled, but Erik did not pause to explain, mounting his horse and taking off at a gallop, back to where Aethelflaed waited.

When the pair returned to Coccham’s gate, Uhtred was waiting, sent for by a confused and concerned Wulfric. Uhtred greeted the riders warmly, quickly concealing his surprise that they arrived together, with no warning or entourage. They were brought inside the walls and led to the hall, where Gisela welcomed them. She took charge of Aethelflaed, fussing over her belly and offering food, drink and fresh water. Uhtred insisted that Erik help him with the horses, though there were men enough to do the job. When they were alone in the stable, Uhtred spoke.

“I think you have a story to tell me, Erik Thurgilson.”

Erik carefully brushed his horse, not letting himself be intimidated by Uhtred’s direct stare. “Lady Aethelflaed needed help. She came to find me. We agreed it would be best if I brought her here.”

Uhtred huffed in frustration at the brevity of Erik’s response. “And why would Lady Aethelflaed, King Alfred’s daughter, come to you for help?”

Erik shrugged. “When she traded me at Beomfleet, I offered her my support, if ever she should need it.”

“Why?”

“She was a merciful captor. I wanted to repay the kindness.” Erik had chosen the strategy of sparse but honest answers, and he could see it irritated Uhtred.

“So that’s all there is to it. A year ago, a woman was kind to you. A year later, she sought your help. And now you both arrive at my door.”

“You’re just as smart as they say, Uhtred Ragnarson.”

Uhtred rolled his eyes at the smirk in Erik’s voice.

“Why did she need help? And why did she ask you? I need to know everything if I’m to keep you both here in Coccham.”

“You’ll have to speak to the Lady, then. I can’t speak for her.”

“Erik–”

“Uhtred. I’m grateful that you have welcomed me into your home. I know you have questions. But I cannot say more. If Lady Aethelflaed trusts you–and I believe she does–she will speak for herself.”

Uhtred sighed. “Alright. I will let her rest, then we will talk. All of us.”

True to his word, Uhtred waited until late in the evening before prompting Aethelflaed to speak. Gisela had just returned from putting the children to bed, and they were joined by Hild.

They sat around the candlelit table; the night was too warm for a fire. Aethelflaed felt calm in the company of so many familiar faces, and yet it was strange to keep away from Erik. Though she was adept at hiding her emotions, knowing she was watched and judged at all times, she had become so used to the intimacy between them. She tried to keep from looking at him too frequently, but when Uhtred asked her to explain herself, she and Erik exchanged looks. He nodded slightly and she took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I could not stay in Oxenford. I feared for my safety.”

“From who?” Uhtred asked sternly.

Gisela made an exasperated noise from her place at the head of the table. “You know from who, Uhtred. From Lord Aethelred.”

Aethelflaed smiled appreciatively at Gisela. “Yes, from Aethelred. He has been…” she chose her words carefully, “cruel and controlling. More so with the pregnancy. It became too much to bear. He went too far. And–quite foolishly, I think–I ran away.”

Hild reached across the table to rest her hand on Aethelflaed’s. Gisela spoke quietly. “You are a brave woman, Lady Aethelflaed. If you left, you left for good reason.”

Though he looked sympathetic, Uhtred was not as soft-hearted as the women, and he pushed on, keen for more information.

“He hurt you? How?”

A sense of shame and dread rushed through Aethelflaed. She had not spoken aloud the extent of her husband’s abuse, not even to Erik. She was relieved when Erik interjected.

“He was cruel, Uhtred. You do not need to know more.”

Uhtred turned to Erik, his expression curious. “So Aethelred was a turd, as expected. You wisely chose to leave, Lady Aethelflaed. But why go to Erik?”

Aethelflaed felt her cheeks heat, and prayed the darkness would hide her discomfort. “I knew Lord Erik well enough–”

“From when you took him hostage,” Uhtred interjected.

“Will you let the lady speak, Uhtred,” Hild complained, “or do you plan to answer all your invasive questions for her?”

Uhtred put up his hands, chastened by Hild’s glare.

“I knew Lord Erik. I trusted him. I heard his camp was near to Oxenford, near enough to walk. I took a chance.” Erik met her gaze across the table, his eyes gentle and reassuring. Aethelflaed continued more confidently. “And I was fortunate. Lord Erik offered to bring me here safely. I don’t believe I could have traveled so far on my own, and since Aethelred dismantled my own guard, I had no one else to turn to.” Aethelflaed looked directly at Uhtred. “And so, I am here on your doorstep. I have put you in a terrible position, I know. It is likely that Aethelred is already searching for me. Perhaps you will think it best that I go back to Oxenford, or on to Winchester. But you have always defended me, Uhtred, and I could think of no safer place to be than Coccham.”

Gisela spoke before Uhtred could. “We are happy to have you, Lady Aethelflaed. We are happy that Erik has brought you here safely. We will do whatever we can to help you, right, Uhtred?”

Uhtred sighed and nodded. “Of course. You are welcome here, Lady.”

Aethelflaed smiled gratefully at him.

“Will Aethelred not think you were taken prisoner?” Gisela asked.

Aethelflaed shook her head. “I left a letter. I said that I was worried for the child, that I needed to take solace in the church to pray for a safe birth.”

“That’s good,” Hild said, “You can stay in my Abbey. Best to make your story as accurate as possible.”

“Will Aethelred have gone to Winchester?” Hild asked.

Uhtred scoffed. “And tell King Alfred his daughter is missing? Aethelred’s too much of a coward for that. He likely has men out looking for you, though.”

Aethelflaed nodded. “Fortunately, I’m the patroness of many convents, so he has many places to look. But I imagine he’ll send someone to Coccham soon.”

“That is a concern for tomorrow,” Gisela side, rising to her feet. “You need rest. Hild, if you have room for them in the Abbey, I have linens to make up the beds.”

Hild nodded and followed Gisela to a trunk in the corner. They returned a moment later, arms laden with blankets.

“Lady Aethelflaed, we’ll make sure you are comfortable first. Uhtred, bring Erik to the Abbey in a little while.”

As she followed Gisela and Hild out into the darkness, Aethelflaed admired the younger woman’s authority. She commanded the whole household, including Uhtred. He may lead whole fyrds into battle, he may argue with kings and bargain with warlords, but he always obeyed Gisela with love and respect. It was the kind of marriage Aethelflaed had always imagined for herself.

Hild led them to small room in the Abbey, one of those kept free for visiting priests and pilgrims. Aethelflaed lit the candles while Gisela and Hild made the bed.

“Will you be sleeping alone, Lady Aethelflaed?”

Aethelflaed looked up in surprise, but Hild was turned away from her and she could not make out the Abbess’s expression.

“Who would I be sleeping with, Hild?” Aethelflaed asked, feigning innocence.

“I don’t know, perhaps the big, strong warlord who couldn’t take his eyes of you all evening?” Hild turned to her with a smirk.

“Hild, I–” Aethelflaed began to protest, but Hild cut her off.

“He looked at you like you were the rain after a long drought.”

Gisela giggled.

“Lord Erik is an ally. A friend. Nothing more.”

Gisela shook her head, still laughing. “I’m sorry, Aethelflaed, but we cannot believe that. That man is clearly devoted to you. And I think perhaps you desire him too?”

Once again, Aethelflaed found herself flustered, her cheeks burning red in the dim candlelight.

“I think princesses are not used to being teased, Hild.”

“Poor child,” Hild smiled sympathetically, “we’ll leave you be. But I’ll put Erik in the next room, should you need any help during the night.”

Hild scurried out of the room. Gisela burst into giggles again and pulled Aethelflaed in for a hug. “I’m sorry, lady. I am just pleased to see a man look at you with all the admiration you deserve. I won’t make fun anymore.”

Aethelflaed sighed into the comforting embrace. “Thank you, Gisela. For everything.”

Gisela stepped back and looked at her, solemn now. “I am only sorry I couldn’t help sooner. I know it has been hard, but you are safe here.”

Aethelflaed gave her host one more hug and bid her goodnight.

A few restless hours later, and cursing Hild’s prescience, Aethelflaed rose from her bed and carefully made her way through the unfamiliar darkness to Erik’s chamber. She slid in the bed beside him, aiming to be as quiet as possible. But her pregnant body was unwieldy, and instead she knocked the bedside table into the wall and kneed Erik in the side. Aethelflaed winced as Erik grunted in pain.

“Can’t a man sleep peacefully in his own aggressively Christian chamber?”

“You don’t sleep,” Aethelflaed countered, making herself comfortable against his warm chest, “you lie very still and worry.”

“You know me too well,” Erik sighed. “Don’t suppose you’re worried about being found in bed with me.”

“Hild knows. Gisela, too.”

“You told them?”

“They said they could see it on your face.”

Erik sighed. “I choose to believe they are very perceptive, and not that I am such an obvious fool.”

“If the thought comforts you, then so be it.”

Erik laughed and pulled her towards him. He kissed her, softly at first, then more passionately.She responded eagerly, groping to remove his tunic, then reaching for the tie at his waist. But then he stopped abruptly.

“That man watching us–will he report back to Hild?”

Aethelflaed sat up, concerned. “What man?”

Erik pointed and she followed the direction of his finger. In the darkness, she could make out the shape of something on the wall: a wooden cross, the figure of a man suspended on it. She exhaled in relief.

“That is only Christ, the lord.”

“Your god?”

“Yes. Well, the son of God. But God, as well.”

Erik gazed back at her, perplexed. “And does he care if we do sinful things? Like your priests?”

“No. I mean, yes. He died for our sins.”

“Yours and mine?”

“Everyone’s.”

“And now we can sin all we want? Because he took care of it?”

“No!”

“This makes no sense. Your gods make no sense.”

“I’m not explaining it clearly. Besides, it has little to do with this. With you and me.”

“So we can hump. And that wooden man won’t mind.”

“I mean, he will, I suppose. But that’s no concern of yours.”

“And Hild won’t know?”

“She probably will.”

“How?”

“Hild knows everything."

“But not because of the wooden man?”

“I don’t believe so?”

“This is very confusing and dull,” Erik complained. “We should kiss some more.”

Aethelflaed laughed in spite of herself. “Heathen.”

“Yes, princess?” Erik whispered, leaning in to kiss her neck and sweeping his hand under her shift.

“Stop calling me that,” she gasped as his thumb grazed the sensitive skin between her legs.

“Make me, princess.”

Aethelflaed pushed him back on the bed and kissed him, silencing him at last.


	16. Chapter 16

It wasn’t until the next afternoon that Uhtred got Aethelflaed alone, under the guise of showing her the manuscripts held in the Abbey. They were kept by Hild, of course–Aethelflaed knew that Uhtred cared little for any written record–but Uhtred only needed an excuse to speak with Aethelflaed privately.

All the same, she took her time turning the delicate pages, admiring the careful work of the scribes. She had loved to read, ever since she was a child, and writing of any kind gave her a sense of calm. She needed that grounding feeling when she looked up at Uhtred. He was leaning forward, his palms resting on the table, and he was staring at her intensely. It frightened Aethelflaed, just a little. This was how he stared down his opponents at negotiations and the witan, but his intimidation had never been directed at her. She straightened her back and met his gaze.

“Do you have something to ask me, Lord Uhtred?” She saw his jaw tense ever so slightly at her tone.

“I want you to tell me what I already know.”

“You will have to be more specific, Lord Uhtred. I imagine you know many things.”

He scoffed and straightened. “Lady Aethelflaed, you have brought a mess to my doorstep. By asking me to shelter you, you have put me at odds with King Alfred, to whom I have sworn an oath, the entire kingdom of Mercia, and–I suspect–an entire camp of Northmen who are missing their lord. You owe me the truth.”

“You’re right, Uhtred. I should not have spoken to you that way, not after your generous welcome.” She took a deep breath and stared down at the page before her, the dense black ink a comfort. “I have not been faithful to my husband. I sought Erik out. I did it because I was afraid for my safety–that _is_ true, but it was more than that. I desired him. And now I have fallen in love with him, and I have dragged him into my trouble, and I fear there is no going back.”

Uhtred sighed deeply and dropped into the chair across from her, running his hand over his face.

“Is it as bad as you fear, Uhtred?”

He smiled slightly. “Worse. I knew that Erik is devoted to you–Gisela confirmed it for me–but I hoped you might just be escaping your turd of a husband. I hoped you did not love him too.”

“And why is that worse?”

Uhtred laughed humourlessly. “Because you are stubborn, Lady. You have the iron will of your father. And I believe that, like your father, you are determined to build England. How can you have both? How can you have Erik and England? It is worse because now you will lose something dear to you, and I do not with to see you in sorrow.”

His words stung, but only because they put voice to the fears Aethelflaed had been carrying with her. Amidst the pleasure and peace she felt with Erik was something dark: a growing dread of the day when she would have to choose between the life she had always known and this new life she so desired. Uhtred was right: she could not be the Lady of Mercia, she could not see England united, and also fall asleep each night in Erik’s arms. Her happiness would come at too high a cost.

“I am sorry to be so blunt, Lady.”

Aethelflaed looked up at Uhtred. She could see the empathy in his eyes. He did not say these things out of cruelty. She trusted him to speak honestly, never to a selfish end, not to her. And that made his warning all the more painful.

“No, Uhtred. You are right. I know you are right. But perhaps I can take some time? Just a few days more, just to…” She could not find words for what she was asking, but Uhtred nodded all the same.

“Of course. I can give you time. Likely not enough.”

“There could not be enough,” she replied.

Uhtred smiled again, sadly. “So you are in love.”

That evening, Uhtred insisted on celebrating the visitors. There was music and dancing and more ale than necessary. While Aethelflaed laughed and danced with Uhtred and Gisela’s children, Erik sought out Wulfric, offering the Saxon guard a drink. They drank side by side, watching the celebration. Wulfric broke the silence.

“It is good to see her so happy. When I left, she was miserable.”

“I was surprised to hear you left Oxenford. You were so loyal to her.”

Wulfric sighed. “I still am. I did not leave willingly. But Aethelred, he did not trust my loyalty. When he sent me away he insisted that no man should be so close to his wife, that he would not let me lust after her.”

“Did you?” Erik’s question was bold, but his tone softened it. It was clear he asked out of curiosity, nothing more.

Wulfric grinned. “No. I have never wanted a woman. My interests lie elsewhere.”

Erik nodded in understanding. “I imagine Aethelred did not know of your interests.”

“Oh, he knew.” Wulfric turned towards Erik, acknowledging the confusion on the Northman’s face. “It is not about jealousy, lord. It is about control. It did not matter whether I wanted to hump her or not. It mattered that I respected her, that I advised her, that she could rely on me. He is not a jealous man who wants his beautiful wife all to himself. He is a cruel man who wants a powerful woman to feel weak and alone.” Wulfric drained his cup and wiped his mouth. When he raised his head, all the anger and hatred was gone from his eyes, and he smiled up at Aethelflaed, who had spotted them across the crowd.

“I won’t let him succeed,” Wulfric spoke in a low voice, his eyes fixed on Aethelflaed as she wove through the revellers towards them. “Whatever comes next, I will be by her side. I will serve her until the end.”

He fell silent as Aethelflaed arrived before them. She sat down between the two men, stretching out her legs with a sigh. Her hand rested on the wood of the bench, her fingers briefly grazing Erik’s in the safety of the darkness. Even such a light touch felt vital, like a sip of water after days of thirst. Then she pulled away and turned to Wulfric, eager to catch up with her old guard.


	17. Chapter 17

The days passed too quickly. Erik and Aethelflaed were still careful during the day, keeping their distance, but each precious night was spent together. Aethelflaed was awakened by the sound of heavy rain outside the Abbey. As usual, Erik was still awake. When she stirred, he rolled onto his side, wrapping his arm around her and resting his hand on her stomach.

“I worry for you, Erik,” Aethelflaed whispered into the darkness. “You cannot live on so little sleep.”

“No need to worry, love. There is an hour or two in the early morning when I sleep like the dead. It is enough.”

“I would like to think I tire you out, just a little.”

He laughed. “I’m a warrior, princess. We don’t tire so easily, not like your weak Saxon men.”

Erik started at a sudden movement under his hand. “Not the only ones awake.”

Aethelflaed smiled contentedly at the kicks in her belly. “I think she likes you. She kicks when you laugh.”

“It’s a she now?”

“I hope so. I’m tired of men. And I’d like a daughter. You’d be good with a daughter.”

Aethelflaed felt Erik tense up. He moved away from her, lying on his back.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I just meant–”

“This isn’t my child, Aethelflaed.”

HIs use of her name stung. “I know that, I only–”

“You aren’t my wife.”

Aethelflaed lay in silence, rueing her own foolishness. The comfort of the Abbey, the company of old and trusted friends, Erik’s good humour: she had let these things disarm her. But this wasn’t her happy ending. More than likely, it was just a beautiful detour from her fate as the kept wife of a nasty and powerful man.

“At least you’ve given me something to worry over tonight,” Erik’s tone was more resigned than joking.

Aethelflaed stirred as if to rise. “I should return to my room.”

“No,” he reached out and dragged her back towards him. “You should distract me. Tire me out.”

Erik kissed her fervently, and the pain in her chest when she thought of her real life, her real husband, melted away once again.

In the morning, Aethelflaed walked through the woods with Gisela and Hild, collecting herbs and plants. Gisela would dry the leaves and roots and use them throughout the winter, sharing calming teas and soothing balms with the people of Coccham. It was not the typical work of an Abbess, but Hild had stuck close these last few days. She was protective towards Aethelflaed, who she had cared for as a child in the marshlands. And they were all tense and watchful, anticipating the arrival of Aethelred’s men. While they wandered the woods, away from the safety of Coccham, Hild’s sword skill was valuable.

While Hild collected branches that could be whittled into arrows, Gisela crouched next to a small patch of flowers, carefully harvesting the buds. Aethelflaed could not be of much help in this regard–crouching and standing was difficult with her awkwardly large belly–but she held the basket for her friend. When the harvest was complete, Gisela took the time to teach Aethelflaed about the plants. She explained how she identified the plant, by the shape of the leaves, the hue of the flower, and the pattern of growth, and described the plants uses. Aethelflaed nodded, trying to take in the words, but her lack of focus was clear.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Gisela said, and the abrupt shift in subject snapped Aethelflaed out of her revery.

“About the uses of…chamomile?”

“Yarrow,” Gisela corrected.

“I’m sorry, Gisela. I know how valuable this information is, I just–”

“Hild,” Gisela called out, “We are taking a rest.”

Hild appeared out of the trees, quiet as a deer, and dropped the bundle of sticks on the ground. While Gisela and Aethelflaed settled in the grass, Hild untied the pouch at her waist, bringing out honey cakes and a skin of fresh water. When she spied the sweet cakes, Aethelflaed felt deeply grateful for her friends, who seemed to anticipate her needs even better than she could.

“You could go back to him,” Gisela said, when they all had food and water, “but it won’t be any different.”

“I imagine it will be worse,” Hild added. “Or you could go with your warrior. He will treat you well, I believe, but you will lose a great deal.”

“And a woman of your position,” Gisela added, “people will come after you. You may never know peace.”

Aethelflaed stayed silent for a long time before speaking. “You were the sister of a king, Gisela, but you chose Uhtred. And you are happy now, are you not?”

Gisela and Hild exchanged smiles, and Aethelflaed suddenly felt like a child among doting adults.

“I have not seen my brother in years,” Gisela replied. “I gave up a great deal to be with Uhtred, including my family. There are many, your mother included, who still consider me a whore and a heathen. And though I love Uhtred, he is not an easy man to love. He throws himself into every quarrel. He is away more often than not. And when he does come home, he brings trouble with him.”

Aethelflaed felt foolish. She had only ever seen Gisela’s happiness, never even wondered about her friend’s life before marriage.

“So I should go back to Aethelred.”

Hild leaned forward and clasped Aethelflaed’s hand in hers, a firm, reassuring grip. “We are not saying that, my lady. We only want you to think carefully about what you do next. It can be thrilling, to change your life, to find new freedoms and pleasures. But you will live a long life, God willing, and I hope you end it with few regrets.” Hild lifted Aethelflaed’s chin, urging the downcast young woman to meet her eye. “Know that if you choose Erik, we will stand by you. You will lose many things, but not us.”

Gisela nodded. “And if you stay in your marriage, we will do all we can to keep you safe.”

Aethelflaed sighed. “How can I feel so hopeless, when I have friends such as you?”

The women smiled and sat back, giving her space. She took another cake and chewed it slowly, contemplating all they had said. As they finished eating and rose to continue their walk, the ache in Aethelflaed’s chest, which had been growing steadily these last days, suddenly seemed unbearable.

“The alliance between Wessex and Mercia is too fragile. It would not survive if–” the words caught in her throat. Her friends listened, but didn’t interrupt. “And the people of Mercia: they have grown to trust me. I could not betray them. I could not leave them to him.”

Gisela looped her arm through Aethelflaed’s. “Then it is decided.”

Back in Coccham, Erik was at the forge, watching the blacksmith work. Erik had long had an interest in forging, and he made it a point to visit forges whenever he could, eager to see the techniques and style that each blacksmith brought to their craft. This time of year, when many Saxons worked hard in the fields, the blacksmith was focused on repairing farming tools rather than crafting fine weapons. But it drew Erik’s interest all the same, and he chatted with the blacksmith and examined the man’s tools, including a well-made hammer with a handle carefully shaped to fit comfortably in the smith’s hand. The smith even let Erik strike a few blows.

As he made his way back to Uhtred’s hall, Erik let his mind wander: he could be more than a warrior. He had the skill and knowledge to set up his own forge, to support a family. If need be, he could throw his life aside and build a new one, somewhere out of the way. No more men to command or battles to win, just jobs to be done and a sweet wife to come home to.

But there was the trouble. She wasn’t his wife. She couldn’t be. And he could not imagine wanting anyone else. Erik may be able to start anew, but Aethelflaed could not. He knew her too well: her sense of duty was too strong. She would choose England–a damned kingdom that didn’t even _exist_ –over her own desires.

It was time to leave.

That night, they barely spoke. There was too much to say. Erik remembered that night a year ago under the stars, when all they could do was talk. Now, all they could do was touch. As they made love, Erik silently willed Aethelflaed to cling tighter, to scratched and bite and punish him for leaving. But she was gentle, stroking his cheek and planting soft kisses over his scarred skin. For the first time in years, he fell fast asleep.

He was ready to leave soon after breakfast, bidding a quick goodbye to his hosts on his way out of the hall. Gisela touched Aethelflaed’s shoulder and nodded towards the door.

She found him in the stable, preparing his horse. She ran her hand along the beast’s back. He was a well-trained horse, and he had become used to Aethelflaed during their journey south, so he did not spook when she leaned into his mane, resting her chin on his warm neck.

“The mare will stay with you. You can take her back north with you.”

Aethelflaed didn’t look up, didn’t respond.

“I left some silver in the room for you, too. Not much, but enough to get you home.”

She shook her head, willing Erik to stop speaking.

“And I’d like to ask one more favour,” he didn’t continue until she met his eye. “Take Wulfric with you. You won’t find a more loyal man, and you deserve someone to keep you safe. You are a princess, after all.”

Aethelflaed let out a noise, half laugh, half sob. “Wessex has no princess, heathen.”

She moved around the horse and stood in front of him. She leaned into him, resting her forehead against his, cupping his cheek in her hand. But when she tilted her head to kiss him, he stepped back, turning his face away. “I’ve given too much of myself to you.”

His words stung, and she turned away, wiping furiously at the tears on her face. Before she could turn back, he mounted his horse and rode out of the stable.


	18. Chapter 18

Aldhelm arrived within a few days of Erik’s departure, Mercian guards in tow. Uhtred would not let him see Aethelflaed, insisting that she was not well enough for visitors.

“She will stay in the Abbey until after the birth. She is in no condition to travel.”

Aldhelm protested, but Uhtred spoke over him. “Gisela and Abbess Hild are seeing to her care. They say she is not well enough to travel, and so she will not travel.”

“Lord Uhtred, you do not have the authority to make this decision. Lord Aethelred is her husband, and he wants her home. Lady Aethelflaed must be ready–”

Uhtred cut him off again. “Lady Aethelflaed will stay in the Abbey, for her safety and the safety of the child.”

Aldhelm shook his head. “I know you were raised by Danes, Lord Uhtred, but you live among Saxons now. We are civilized men, and civilized men wait their turn to speak.”

Uhtred sneered. “And do civilized men choke their wives, or is that just your lord?”

Aldhelm’s eyes widened for just a second, registering his shock at Uhtred’s implication. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “Lord Aethelred is a spirited man. Perhaps he has been overzealous in his care of his wife, but he is eager to see her back in Mercia at his side.”

“Then he can come and fetch her himself. Though I warn you, Aldhelm, I may be overzealous in my welcome.”

Aldhelm sighed. “Let me speak to her. Once I confirm that she is comfortable in Abbess Hild’s care, I will return to Oxenford and make sure my lord understands that she will be returning after the birth.”

Uhtred considered the Mercian’s proposal. “I will grant you a few minutes with her. And Abbess Hild will be in the room.”

Aldhelm scoffed. “Is that meant to frighten me?”

“You obviously don’t know Hild.”

Aethelflaed was sleeping when Aldhelm visited the Abbey. Hild gently shook her awake and she sat up groggily. She was in the last months of her pregnancy now, and that along with her grief over Erik had left her tired. When Aldhelm entered the room, she was upright but she looked unwell.

“My lady, I am sorry to disturb you. Uhtred has told me that you are not able to travel, that you intend to stay here until after the birth?”

Aethelflaed nodded and cleared her throat. “Abbess Hild will see me through to the birth, and there is a good midwife in Coccham. I will be well looked after.”

“Lady,” Aldhelm stepped closer to the bed, lowering his voice, though Hild stood close by with a sword at her waist. “Why did you come to Coccham? We could have found a good midwife in Oxenford.”

Aethelflaed sat up straight. “I was frightened, thinking about the birth. Hild has known me since I was a child and she has cared for so many women. I thought she would know what to do. It was foolish of me, I know. But I was frightened.”

“About the baby.” Aldhelm replied.

Aethelflaed looked at him steadily. “Of course. What else should I be frightened of, Aldhelm?” She was challenging him to acknowledge Aethelred’s cruelty. Or to deny it. Instead, he conceded.

“I am glad to see you safe, my lady. I will assure your husband that all is well. I will leave a man here, to bring back news of the birth.” He bowed and left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing and posting in batches. Hopefully the next batch will come sooner!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caveat: this story is not well-researched. I make up warlords and ignore history and only vaguely acknowledge geography.   
> Stay for the angst and the fluff, though these next few chapters are a little bleak.

It was mid-winter when Erik and Sigefrid rode into Oxenford. They brought a small band of warriors, not enough to put Lord Aethelred on the defence but enough that they might fight their way out of a dangerous situation.

It was not the season for battles–too cold for war camps and long marches. In the winter, warriors had to be kept warm and well-fed or they would slip away to their homes or nearby towns. But the Danes to the North seemed to be well-resourced and tireless. Led by Oddvar Freyrson, they had been starting skirmishes in Mercia and Danelaw, pillaging silver and the precious grain meant to see settlements through the winter. Oddvar had been pushing into the brothers’ territory, and the brothers knew from their scouts and spies that the Dane was building up to something bigger, an attack they could not withstand alone.

As they were led into Oxenford and up to the steps of Aethelred’s hall, Erik spit on the ground. He felt unspeakable shame at the thought of asking that man–that arse–for help. And it _was_ unspoken: to Erik’s surprise, rumour had not spread of his journey with Aethelflaed, at least no rumour credible enough to catch on. Erik was certain that Uhtred had exerted his authority to keep the relationship quiet. Sigefrid knew nothing of Erik’s ties to Aethelflaed, and Erik wanted to keep it that way. As such, Erik had a difficult time talking his brother out of seeking an alliance with the Lord of Mercia. Sigefrid had been his usual stubborn self. He was determined to use the Mercians to destroy “that shit-weasel Oddvar.” Once they vanquished their enemy to the north, they could use any knowledge gained through the alliance to attack Aethelred and take over more Mercian territory. Erik reluctantly saw the benefits of this plan, though he was not convinced that they would succeed in securing an alliance with Aethelred.

And then, there was his heart: his soft, treacherous, pain in the arse heart. It had been half a year since he left Coccham, but Erik’s love for Aethelflaed was as strong as ever. He knew he would have to keep a tight reign on his emotions in the days to come, both his desire for Aethelflaed and his bitter hatred towards her husband. There was too much at stake.

When they entered the hall and were presented to the Lord of Mercia, Erik was equally relieved and unhappy that Aethelflaed was not present. Just Aethelred, a man Erik recognized as the lord’s advisor, and a score of guards and servants. The brothers’ own guards were outside, but Aethelred still looked a tad uneasy as he sat in his fine chair and looked down at the Northmen. He was likely recalling the last time they met, when he’d ended up bloody and beaten under Erik’s boot. Erik tried not to smirk at the memory, presenting a steady, direct expression to the Mercian lord.

“Aldhelm, why is there pair of vulgar Northmen glaring at me in my home?” Aethelred asked the man beside him.

“Perhaps you should ask them, lord,” the man–Aldhelm–replied, drawing a sharp glance from his lord. Erik saw regret pass over Aldhelm’s face, only for an instant. The advisor should not have revealed the tension between himself and his lord; they should have presented a united front.

Aethelred turned back to the brothers. “Well?” There were to be no niceties in this negotiation.

“Oddvar.” Sigefrid responded.

“Uhtred.” Aethelred returned. “I’m sorry, are we not just naming people who annoy us?”

“He’s stupider than I remember,” Sigefrid muttered in Norse.

Aethelred interrupted. “I am finding this all very dull.”

Erik sighed and spoke up. “Oddvar Freyrson is a problem, for us and for you. He’s raiding along ourborders and taking from our people. We have news that he is preparing a much larger attack. He is bringing in Danish ships full of warriors. When the sailing season begins, they will join his ranks.”

“So he defeats you. What does that matter to Mercia?”

“Because he will not stop at us,” Sigefrid said tersely. “He will take our silver and our food and he will buy more warriors, and before you know it, this fine house of yours, with all its rich fabrics and soft beds, will be burned to the ground with you inside.”

Aethelred beckoned to Aldhelm and the two Saxons whispered for a moment. Aethelred leaned back in his chair. “If you are proposing an alliance, then I will hear you out. But we must be civilized. We will speak over dinner, without swords at our sides or anyone’s boot on anyone else’s throat.”

Erik had to bow his head this time to hide his smirk.

“My servants will see you have beds to sleep in and water to wash with,” Aethelred continued.

“Will your beautiful wife be joining us?” Sigefrid asked.

Aethelred narrowed his eyes. “Why does it matter?”

Sigefrid shrugged. “I need to know how well I should wash. For you? Just a splash. For the Lady of Mercia? I will take my time.”

Aethelred chose not to take the bait, bidding one of his servants to show the Northmen to their rooms. As they exited the hall, Erik felt his shoulders finally drop, releasing the tension he had felt throughout the whole exchange.

“Lady, wake up.”

Aethelflaed started awake at the voice. She was being gently prodded by one of her servants, Myldreth, who looked at her nervously. Aethelflaed stretched. After checking the bassinet beside her, where her daughter Aelfwynn still slept, she smiled reassuringly up at the young servant.

“How long was I asleep?”

“An hour or so, Lady. But it is almost time to eat and my lord has guests.”

Aethelflaed sat up straight. “Guests. Who?”

“Two Danes. Or Northmen, I think. Warlords. Very fearsome looking.”

“Do you know their names?”

Myldreth thought for a moment. “I didn’t hear their names, my lady. But they were called the brothers.”

Aethelflaed felt a lump in her throat. He was here, in her home, speaking to Aethelred. Not only would she be expected to face him, she would need to play hostess: be friendly and attentive all evening and into the next day. It was daunting enough that she wanted to hide under the covers of her bed and feign illness. But that wasn’t an option; she couldn’t shirk her duties as Lady of Mercia and lady of the household, and she certainly couldn’t risk leaving him alone with Aethelred much longer.

“Thank you, Myldreth. I’ll dress now. Will you stay with Aelfwynn while I dine?” Myldreth nodded. “Good. Send for me if she is hungry. The wet nurse is still away.”

While Myldreth drew a chair up beside the bassinet and pulled out the bundle of mending she left tucked beside the bed, Aethelflaed rose and steeled herself for the evening ahead. She washed her face and re-braided her hair, a simple style she’d adopted to hide the spots she’d lost hair since the birth. Then she faced her wardrobe. Preparing for guests was always a challenge. When she dressed too fine, Aethelred accused her of putting herself on display and inviting male attention. When she dressed down, he wondered condescendingly why she would undermine him, making it seem like they could not afford fine things. Like all games Aethelred played, it was un-winnable. She settled on a dress made of rich blue cloth with intricate lace trim. The quality of the cloth and lace were obvious, but the style was modest. It was an outfit that emphasized Aethelred’s wealth rather than Aethelflaed’s body.

“How do I look?”

Myldreth looked up from her mending and surveyed Aethelflaed. “You look lovely, lady.”

“But?” Aethelflaed said, picking up on the hitch in Myldreth’s voice.

Myldreth sighed reluctantly. “You look tired. Lady, you should not let the wet nurse leave so often. With the babe keeping you up all night, you must be exhausted.”

Aethelflaed shook her head stubbornly. “Aelfwynn is my child, Myldreth. I’ll feed her as often as I can. Besides, the wet nurse has her own family to see to. I can’t let her run herself ragged on my account.”

“That is what she is paid for, lady.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s right, Myldreth.” Aethelflaed bent to tuck her knife into her stocking–a habit she had picked up since returning to Oxenford–smoothed her dress, and checked on Aelfwynn. As she entered the hallway, she took the moment of solitude to try and collect herself: deep, even breaths. But she was not alone for long. Wulfric was waiting at the entrance to the hall, his hand resting on his sword handle, as always. His expression when he saw her was concerned.

“It’s true, then?” Aethelflaed asked. “He’s here.”

Wulfric nodded.

“Then I will ask you to be extra vigilant this evening, Wulfric. I’m not sure what to expect.”

“Of course, lady. I will stick close.”

She gave his arm a squeeze. For a long time, Wulfric avoided any physical affection, but since he had seen her home from Coccham, he had been more relaxed with Aethelflaed. She had come to depend on his friendship and his protection. They were a sort of team, communicating through subtle signals, navigating Aethelred’s moods as carefully as possible. Of course, Wulfric couldn’t keep Aethelflaed entirely safe–no one could ensure that except Aethelred himself. But Wulfric’s steadfast support gave Aethelflaed the courage to push back against her husband’s tyranny, to the point where they had a kind of agreement: outside her wing, Aethelred could say whatever he wanted to Aethelflaed. But her rooms were a kind of sanctuary where she and Aelfwynn lived in peace. He would not enter her part of the house, for fear of what Wulfric or Aethelflaed herself would do to him. He did not take an interest in Aelfwynn, to the point where Aethelflaed had to find her own ways to pay for the child’s upkeep, but his indifference was safer.

Wulfric followed Aethelflaed into the hall and stayed by the wall as she took her seat next to Aethelred. The brothers were already there, as was Aldhelm. Aethelflaed was relieved to see that Erik was not across from her. Instead she looked down the table at Sigefrid. She did not look in Erik’s direction, not yet. The table was eerily silent, as all the men watched her settle into her seat.

“Lord Sigefrid, Lord Erik, welcome. I am sorry to keep you all waiting and that I wasn’t here to greet you.”

Aethelred gripped her hand where it rested on the table. “My wife has become very lax in her duties since the birth of her child.”

“I am very fortunate to have excellent servants to help manage the household while I see to _our_ child.” Aethelflaed smiled tightly and removed her hand from his with the excuse of reaching for her cup. “But I am here now, and I am thirsty, so we must have a toast to our guests.” She raised her cup and took a long drink.

The men discussed the brothers’ proposal. It would be a bold and tenuous alliance. On the one hand, a deal with the Northmen may put Mercia at odds with Wessex, and there was doubt about the desire of Saxon Mercians to fight alongside the brothers’ mix of Danes and Northmen. On the other hand, Oddvar had been pushing at Mercia’sborders as well, and the threat was becoming more and more urgent. Many Mercians who had lost homes in the raids had traveled south to beg refuge from their countrymen.

Aethelflaed stayed quiet, occasionally rising to speak with the servants or ensure the men’s cups were filled. Once, she refilled Erik’s drink, and when he looked up to thank her, she let herself look back. His eyes were as striking as ever. If she looked too long, she would be lost in them, like a leaf swirling in a river’s current. She could not let herself be carried away.

While she was picking away at her plate, Sigefrid addressed her.

“Lady Aethelflaed, you have quite the reputation. How would you handle Oddvar Freyrson?”

Aethelflaed was reluctant to answer. “I’m sure I have nothing new to add to the discussion.” Aethelred seemed satisfied by this dismissal, but Sigefrid was not.

“Don’t be absurd. You were trained by Steapa and educated by Alfred. You captured Erik here, and though he’s not as strong as his brother, he’s not easily caught. You are the Lady of Mercia. Tell us what you think.”

After another moment’s hesitation, Aethelflaed spoke. “I think we must not underestimate him. He has been testing us both, poking at us and learning about our territory and defences, so he must be working up to something dangerous.”

“So you agree that an alliance is necessary.”

She felt Aethelred tense beside her, and knew to give her opinion on the matter at hand would be risky. But she answered all the same.

“I believe that we must draw on all our resources, most especially the Mercian people. Many have fled south after surviving Oddvar’s attacks. They know more of him and his warriors than any of us. They can speak to Oddvar’s strategy, weaponry, and the extent of his violence.”

“Those refugees are spread out across Mercia. That would add weeks to our preparation.”

“We cannot move forward without consulting them, especially as it is those people who have suffered from our inaction to this point.”

Sigefrid smirked. Aethelflaed wasn’t sure he was capable of any other kind of smile. “More waiting and more talk. You are your father’s daughter.”

“I know it is not your style, Lord Sigefrid. However, I believe it is the best course.” Aethelflaed leaned back in her chair, hoping her part of the conversation was over. But Sigefrid was not yet satisfied.

“What do you know of my _style_ , lady? I am a warlord. War is my style.”

“It is not that simple. You are more brutal, more reckless.”

“You think me too reckless? I would say I’ve done well enough so far. Perhaps you think you could do better.”

“I did not say _too_ reckless, I was merely saying–”

“No, go on, lady. If I am to be an ally of Mercia, then I should know how the Lady of Mercia would fight my battles.”

Aethelflaed did not know why no one had interrupted them. Erik, perhaps, was interested to hear where the conversation would go, but surely Aethelred and Aldhelm would want to steer the negotiations. Then out of the corner of her eye she saw Aethelred’s hand, his knuckles white where he gripped the table. Her husband was scared. Of course he was. Sigefrid had a notorious temper, and the way he held his right arm, with the blade where a hand should be, was always vaguely menacing, even when he laughed.

But on one point, Sigefrid was right. If they were to be allies, then they needed to be able to discuss strategy plainly and openly. Aethelflaed could not be a demure wife when her people were at stake. Now was the time to gage Sigefrid: would he go into a rage at the first whiff of criticism, or would he hear her out?

She took a deep breath and began. “Witham and Beomfleet. Handled another way, you could have had them both. You attacked Witham while you still held Beomfleet. It was bold, yes, but also reckless. You took your strongest forces to Witham. Of course you did: it was a challenge. It required force. But it left Beomfleet weaker, too weak. In your eagerness to conquer Witham, you were overconfident in your hold on Beomfleet, and you lost it.”

Sigefrid was clearly annoyed. He emptied his cup and almost slammed it on the table, a forceful signal to the servants to refill it. “Reckless and overconfident. I see now, lady. You are like my brother. You are wary.”

Aethelflaed leaned forward slightly. “No, and that may be your weakness. You always fight together, yes? Lead together. Plan together. But you are so different. Why did you leave any men in Beomfleet? Why didn’t you abandon it and throw all your strength at Witham?”

Sigefrid shrugged. Aethelflaed spoke again, answering her own question. “Because of Lord Erik, yes? His caution. He would not give up one stronghold for the mere chance at another. But in your eagerness, you were only half-cautious. You did not have enough men to take Witham or hold Beomfleet.”

Erik interjected then. “So if we had followed Sigefrid’s urge, taken all our men to Witham, we may have won it. But at the cost of Beomfleet, the gate to the Lunden. Witham was not worth it.”

“I disagree. Yes, Beomfleet is a powerful town to hold. But Witham has its advantages. It has been a Saxon stronghold for so long. To take it would have been to strike a blow at Saxon confidence and morale. And it would further limit Saxon access to the coast, so you would control more of the trade.”

Sigefrid waved his hand in frustration. “You say that I am too reckless, but then you say the boldest move was the best move.”

“Not the best move, no. I would have taken a different course entirely. I would have stayed at Beomfleet another season or two, waited. I would forego any extra raids or journeys. Put my men and ships into controlling activity in the Thames. That grants more wealth, more news, more men to be recruited. By the next spring, I would be stronger and ready to take Witham and hold Beomfleet. Particularly if you attacked from both southwest and the sea, so Witham’s people had no choice but to flee further into Danelaw.”

“More waiting. You could die waiting, Lady Aethelflaed.”

“You could die in battle, Lord Sigefrid.”

He scoffed. She remembered that men like him did not fear death in battle. It was the way to Valhalla.

“There is one thing that is not clear. You said we are weak together, Erik and I.”

“Not wholly. I think your partnership has many benefits. But when you plan, you must always compromise, between your rashness and his caution. I think if you were not always pulled in two directions, you might see that there are other strategies altogether. If you begin planning knowing you are going to disagree, you are on the defense too fast. You are not open to other ways. I think that, Lord Sigefrid, is the weakness of the brothers.”

Aethelflaed felt a thrill run through her. It had been a long time since she was able to speak openly about politics and strategy. Aethelred had no interest in hearing her opinion. But Sigefrid had spoken to her as though she were another warrior, not a problem to be disciplined.

“Lady, I am impressed.” Sigefrid raised his cup to her. “You seem to understand me and my brother very well.”

It wasn’t until he had drained his cup again that she realized her mistake. Sigefrid looked at Erik, then back at Aethelflaed. He gave her a knowing smile and she felt her stomach drop.

“I have spoken too much. You men have plans to make and I have a baby to see too. Goodnight.” She rose from the table as calmly as she could and made her way out of the room, signalling for Wulfric to follow her. She wanted him close tonight.

As Aethelflaed left the hall, Aethelred turned back to his guests.

“I am sorry for my wife’s impertinence. She often forgets that politics are the domain of men.”

Sigefrid glared at him across the table. “When someone that smart talks, you listen, no matter what is between their legs.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure about Sigefrid. On the one hand, I want him to be his angry chaotic self. On the other hand, I need someone to move the plot along.
> 
> Also, Erik is a big nerd.

Myldreth was in Aethelflaed’s room, shushing a crying Aelfwynn.

“I’ve changed her, lady, but I think she’s hungry.”

Aethelflaed took the baby from the young woman’s arms. “Thank you, Myldreth. I will feed her. You may go. I imagine you’re quite hungry as well.”

As Aethelflaed settled down to feed Aelfwynn, Wulfric entered the room, leaning against the closed door. He respectfully averted his eyes as she brought the child to her breast.

“What would you like to say to me, Wulfric?”

“Nothing, my lady.”

She looked up at him sharply. He sighed.

“I only hope you will be careful, my lady.”

“Because I haven’t been in the past?” He looked away again. “You do not need to worry. I have a child now. Aelfwynn is my foremost concern. Anything else, any _one_ else, must come after her safety and happiness.”

Wulfric relaxed a little, appeased by her answer.

“Now tell me, Wulfric, what do you think of this alliance? Is it the best course of action?”

Wulfric settled into the chair next to the bed, eager to give his opinion that Mercia could not hold back Oddvar’s forces alone. Aethelflaed wondered, as he spoke, if his experience with Erik swayed his opinion. But she didn’t ask, worried she would appear to be thinking about Erik too much.

In the hall, a similar discussion was taking place. Sigefrid was pushing for an answer from Aethelred, but Aethelred remained vague and non-committal. It was clear to Erik that Aldhelm was for the alliance, but unwilling to undermine his lord. Perhaps if they left Aldhelm and Aethelred alone, the advisor would push for a clear answer. To that end, Erik found an excuse for he and Sigefrid to return to their room, at least for a few moments.

When they were closed in their room, safe from the ears of servants, Sigefrid gave Erik an angry shove.

“You disappoint me, brother.”

Erik recovered his balance as Sigefrid dropped into a chair. “What have I done now, Sigefrid?”

“That _woman_.” Erik flinched at Sigefrid’s words, knowing he was finally caught. “I heard the rumours, but I didn’t believe them. Or at least I didn’t care. You can hump who you choose. But the things she said–the things you must have told her–”

“That is in the past, Sigefrid.”

“No, brother. Your mistake is not in the past, it is in this house. You have made us vulnerable. But we can use it to our advantage. You will seduce her, get her on our side.”

Erik shook his head angrily. “I told you, Sigefrid, it is in the past. I will not–”

Sigefrid stood and slammed his fist on the table nearby, rattling the washbasin. “Are you not ashamed, brother? She used you. That Saxon whore humped you and charmed you and then she ran back to her turd of a husband. You were nothing to her, and now she knows more than she should. If she is not on our side, then she is a threat that I will deal with on my own.”

Erik heard the implication and felt a sick twist in his stomach. He loved Aethelflaed too much to let Sigefrid near her. He raised his hands in surrender.

“I hear you, brother. I will seduce her. By the end of the night, she will be for the alliance. Though I should remind you, her opinion matters little to Aethelred.”

“Her opinion matters to Mercia. That arse is not Mercia.”

Erik nodded. Sigefrid often joked that he was the strong brother and Erik the smart one, but Sigefrid was clever enough to read most situations. He just preferred violence over manipulation.

“I’ll seek her out.”

Sigefrid’s fists uncurled. He was placated, for now. “Her guard?”

“I can handle him. You must handle Aethelred, be sure we are not interrupted. Aldhelm wants an alliance, so use that carefully. Wits over weapons tonight, Sigefrid.”

Sigefrid grinned and hugged his brother. His moods shifted so quickly: he was happy now, excited for them both to play their part.

As Sigefrid returned to the hall with a bottle of fine ale they had brought as a gift, Erik made his way to Aethelflaed’s wing, wary of meeting any guards or servants along the way. He followed the sounds of voices to a closed door and gently knocked. Wulfric opened the door and moved out into the hallway, shutting it behind him.

“I would like to speak to your lady.”

Wulfric glared at him. “She is busy. Too busy for you.”

He was surprised at Wulfric’s hostility but he did not back down. “I only wish to speak to her, Wulfric. Nothing more.”

Wulfric didn’t budge, but the door behind him opened a few inches. Erik caught sight of Aethelflaed, peering out to see the visitor. She opened the door fully and placed a hand on Wulfric’s shoulder.

“It is alright, Wulfric. I will see him. Can you fetch Myldreth?”

Wulfric sighed and stepped out of the way. Erik could see Aethelflaed in her entirety. Her fine gown was now covered in a rough pinafore and her hair was in disarray, with thick strands falling down her face. And there was the babe, perched against her shoulder, one small fist clutched around a lock of Aethelflaed’s hair. Aethelflaed was rhythmically bouncing the child, patting her small back.

“Just give me a moment, Erik. I need to put her down and wait for someone to watch her.”

Erik almost winced at his name on her tongue. It sounded different now, more intimate compared to the formality of the dinner.

“May I see her?” He reached out tentatively and she awkwardly place the child in his arms. “You got your daughter after all,” he whispered, looking down at the small, sleepy face.

“Yes, I did. Just as I wanted.”

He felt that weight in his limbs, the ache he always experienced when he let himself think of what could have been. He gently handed Aelfwynn back to her mother. It had been foolish to even look at the child, let alone hold her.

Once Myldreth took over the care of the baby, Aethelflaed led Erik down the long hallway, Wulfric not far behind. They reached a small, dark room, and she gestured for Erik to enter. When she moved to close the door, Wulfric grunted. Aethelflaed sent him a look and jerked her head to a nearby bench. He sighed, the sound of acquiescence, and sat outside the room to wait.

Aethelflaed carefully lit the candelabras around the room with the candle she had taken from the hallway. Erik noted that the candles were up high in sconces, away from any surface. When the room was lit, it became clear why: the walls were lined with shelves holding piles and piles of scrolls. Though Erik could not read, he knew that this room and its contents were precious. Aethelflaed extinguished the flame in her hand before placing it on a table.

“I have something to show you,” she grinned conspiratorially and reached for a high shelf, running her fingertips along scrolls until she found the right one.

Erik stepped out of the way as she rolled out the fragile paper, resting delicate weights on each corner to keep the edges from curling. She beckoned for him to come closer and look. He approached nervously–he had not been so close to her since their parting in Coccham, and he felt goosebumps rise on his flesh when her sleeve brushed against him. But then he saw what was drawn on the paper and his attention was caught.

“This is England.”

Aethelflaed nodded excitedly.

“And these dots?”

“Settlements and towns. And these lines are the rivers.”

“This is incredible.”

“I knew you would appreciate it. It’s the most detailed I’ve ever seen. It’s copied from one held in Winchester, but I’ve made some additions. Only a few, though, I’m nervous to even handle it, let alone mark it.”

Erik dropped into a chair drawn up to the table and bent over the map. He traced the borders, though his finger only hovered over the surface, not touching.

“Read these words to me.”

Aethelflaed leaned forward, pointing out towns. “This is Oxenford, right here. And here is Lunden, and Beomfleet, and Witham.”

“Is this Mersea?” Erik asked, following her finger up the coast.

“Yes.”

He smiled in satisfaction. “This,” he said, pointing to a spot along the coastline, “Is where I lost five ships, on the rocks.”

Aethelflaed couldn’t help but grin at the contrast between his dark words and his contented expression. “Someday, these maps will be so detailed and so common that you can avoid those rocks, even if you and your crew have never seen them before.”

“Imagine.”

She stepped back, leaving him to examine the document while she paced the small room. Eventually, the thrill of sharing her valuable artefact faded, overtaken by her painful mix of feelings for Erik. She settled against a desk in the corner.

“Sigefrid knows, doesn’t he?”

She saw him deflate, just a little. “He does now.”

“It’s my fault. I went too far at dinner. I–”

“No,” Erik interjected, “he already suspected. He would have found out soon enough. I knew the risks when we came here.”

“What will he do?”

Erik’s eyes wrinkled, as if he was on the verge of smiling. “He sent me to seduce you. To get you on our side, be sure the beloved Lady of Mercia supports an alliance against Oddvar.”

Aethelflaed felt a bit affronted: as if she would make such an important decision over something so trivial as sex. Of course, there was nothing trivial about her desire for Erik, but she chafed at the implication nonetheless.

“He must think very low of me. I am not some swooning maid just waiting for be kissed,” she said, indignantly.

“It’s not that Sigefrid thinks low of you, princess, it’s that he thinks highly of me. I can be very charming, you know. I could seduce anyone in Oxenford, given the chance.”

Aethelflaed picked up on the game. “Let’s see: Aldhelm?”

“That man is waiting for a chance to throw over Aethelred. I’d be the perfect excuse.”

“Wulfric?”

“Too easy! He always liked me.”

Aethelflaed scoffed. “He hates you! Didn’t you see him tonight? Right now, he’s one foot away from that door, ready to knock the air out of you.”

“No, he doesn’t hate me. He only loves you too much. If not for you, Wulfric and I would be thick as thieves.”

She laughed. “I stand corrected. You must be irresistible.”

Once their laughter died, there was an unbearable silence. Alright, though Aethelflaed, so joking about his charm was _not_ the way to suppress her feelings.

“I’m sorry, Erik.”

“I told you, Sigefrid would know–”

“No,” she said more firmly. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. I sought you out when I knew I could never…when I knew there was no way for us. It wasn’t fair. When I think of how you left–well, I have not forgotten it, and I’m sorry.”

Erik leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his face. “I like to comfort myself with the thought that it hurt you just as much.”

Aethelflaed smiled sadly. “You’re not wrong.”

He stood and paced the room nervously, then stopped before her. “I don’t regret it. Any of it. Do you?”

She met his direct gaze. “No, not a moment.”

“Good.”

“I am for it.”

Erik looked confused.

“The alliance. I am for it. It is the best course for all of us. Wessex will not back us, not soon enough, and Oddvar is too strong. There is still much to be decided, but when the time comes, Mercia will join you in battle.” She saw Erik’s expression. “Do you doubt it?”

“I do not trust Aethelred.”

“Of course not. He is a coward and a snake. But do you trust me?”

He began pacing again.

“I understand if you don’t,” said Aethelflaed, “I’m sure you have reason enough–”

“I trust you.”

She smiled. “Good. Then we will fight, side by side, and we will win. I swear it.” She bent quickly and pulled out her knife. “Should we swear in blood?”

Erik grinned. “No, your word is enough. I should get back to the hall.”

Aethelflaed shook her head. “Too soon. Sigefrid won’t believe it. If a woman is going to promise you an army, then you must not rush.” He laughed. “Keep looking at the map. Help me find what’s missing. You know the coastline better than I do.”

By morning, a deal had been struck. Scouts were sent around Mercia to collect information on Oddvar’s army and to prepare the fyrd to be called. The brothers rode off with promises to meet the Mercian forces at Lichfield. Aethelflaed did not watch Erik go, not this time. She occupied herself with Aelfwynn, reminding herself of a life more valuable than her own need to be loved.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting angsty.

The lord and lady of Mercia rode to Lichfield with the spring, passing from the cold grey fields in the south to warmth and budding trees in the north. Aethelflaed left Aelfwynn near Worchester, in the care of nuns. She had long been a patroness of their convent and they were more than happy to care for the child in her absence, bringing in a wet-nurse from the nearby town. Aethelflaed struggled to leave her behind, though she did not want Aelfwynn anywhere near the battle. Being away from Aelfwynn was a new kind of grief, unlike any other she had known. While losing Erik was a dull ache, leaving Aelfwynn was a sharp pain, emphasized by her sore breasts, full of milk. She prayed the pain–at least the physical pain–would pass before the battle, so she could focus properly. She prayed she would see her daughter soon. But she kept her suffering to herself, knowing that Aethelred would see it as a reason to leave her behind. She even scolded Wulfric for casting her long, sympathetic looks that brought her to tears.

Their army had been growing as they travelled north. In each town, Aethelflaed sought out the healers, knowing they would know best the suffering wrought by Oddvar’s warriors. These healers, competent and direct, told her stories of burns from scalding water and deep wounds from jagged-tipped arrows. It was clear that Oddvar had found inventive ways to kill and maim. The Mercians would have to be resourceful to survive him, let alone defeat him.

A healer outside Tettenhall recognized Aethelflaed’s pain and treated her breasts with cabbage leaves. While Aethelflaed lay patiently with the leaves placed on her breasts, she began to feel a little ridiculous.

“Ne’er thought I’d be serving cabbage to the Lady of Mercia,” the healer said and offered a leaf for Aethelflaed to munch on. Aethelflaed laughed and accepted, crunching on the vegetable while she waited, hoping Aldhelm would not come looking for her too soon.

Erik and Sigefrid waited in Lichfield, though their army still waited in the east. In the days that followed, Erik and Aethelflaed avoided each other with equal resolve. It wasn’t difficult: there was so much to prepare. They were only together during strategy sessions and soon Aethelflaed avoided even these. She could not handle Aethelred’s uneasy moods, not with everything else, and she knew Wulfric would tell her everything that passed in these rooms. Besides, Aldhelm had been seeking her out more and more, consulting her on different decisions and problems. She knew he brought her thoughts to the meetings with the brothers and passed them off as his own, but she didn’t mind so long as he listened to her. She was beginning to grudgingly respect her husband’s advisor, but also fear for him. Other men who undermined Aethelred had paid with their lives. Aldhelm was too valuable a warrior and leader to lose now, this close to the battle.

Finally, it was time. The brothers left two days ahead, circling around to meet Oddvar’s army from the east. The brothers would begin the assault from the trees and, once the battle was underway, the Mercians would ride down a nearby hill and attack from the other side. Aethelred had insisted on this: that there was an advantage to waiting until Oddvar’s warriors were fully engaged, so the Mercian approach would take them off-guard. Wulfric doubted that Oddvar could be surprised in this way.

The night before, Aldhelm found Aethelflaed where she sat with the women of the camp, ensuring they were prepared to care and feed the wounded. He drew her aside, into the darkness.

“You must not fight on foot tomorrow, lady. You are not trained well enough. Stay on your mount and be sure you have men close to you.”

“Am I not expected to stay at the rear?”

Aldhelm shook his head. “You will take my horse, Sussurus, and you will ride near the front. I have already spoken to Wulfric. He has instructions to lead you out of the fighting if it becomes too thick. Sussurus is the best-trained horse, she will steer you through anything.”

“Aldhelm, why are you telling me this? Why must I lead and not Aethelred?”

“Because of the two of you, you have the courage to see this through. I know you will put your own life at risk for the sake of Mercia. But Mercia will need you. No matter the outcome tomorrow, you must live for your kingdom.”

Aethelflaed barely slept. The noises of the camp kept her awake, attuned as she was to hearing Aelfwynn’s movements in the night. She rose and wrapped herself tight in a blanket, stepping out into the cold spring night. There was still the smell of wood smoke in the air and she heard the soft laughter of men still up drinking. She could not imagine fighting after a night of drinking.

She settled against the outer wall of her tent. Gazing up at the sky, dark with only a sliver of moon, she thought of Erik. Miles away, he must be awake. She could almost feel that agitated energy of his body in the darkness, he who could be so calm and collected in the daylight. Would either of them live to see another moon?


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty bleak. Pet a puppy after reading?

They stood on the crest of the hill, out of sight of the warriors lined up below. The Mercian forces waited behind them, ready to scale the hill and join the battle impending below. Aethelflaed could not make out Erik’s figure in the shield wall and she was nervous. She reminded herself that today was more than him, more than anything they had or might have. Her people’s future was at stake.

Oddvar made the first move, driving forward and attempting to break the brothers’ shield wall. And while they resisted in the front, Oddvar’s archers began to pick away at the Northmen in the back, their jagged arrows ripping deadly wounds in the next wave of fighters.

“Now!” Sigefrid yelled, and a man behind the shield wall lifted a horn to his lips and blew, the long, deep sound rising above the clattering or weapons and shields. It was the call to their allies above, and it brought a surge of hope to the brothers and their men. They would not be fighting alone much longer. The Mercians would draw some of their foes away and ease the battering they were barely enduring.

But the fight dragged on and there was no movement from the hill, no rush of fresh fighters. Aethelred did not come.

“Erik!”

Sigefrid’s furious cry demanded answer. Erik signaled and eased back, letting the shield wall tighten and close the gap before he stepped away. He looked up the hill, but he saw nothing.

“Lord, it is time.”

Aethelred did not react to Aldhelm’s words, his eyes fixed on the battle raging below.

“My lord, we need to move now.” Aldhelm’s voice was urgent. There was a stir of impatience and confusion among the Mercians, crouched in readiness for a call that hadn’t yet come.

Aethelflaed grew impatient and dismounted from Sussurus, moving with Wulfric to where Aldhelm and Aethelred stand.

“We cannot wait any longer!” Aldhelm cried, going so far as to grab Aethelred’s shoulder. Aethelred stared back at his advisor blankly.

Aethelflaed looked down the slope and gasped. “They are being slaughtered! Aethelred, we must move! We must stop this.”

Aethelred finally stirred at his wife’s voice. “Why? Let the heathens destroy each other. We will be better off.”

Aldhelm’s eyes met Aethelflaed’s and he nodded. She turned to Wulfric, seeking assurance. He rested his hand on her armoured shoulder, a rare gesture of affection.

Aethelflaed moved quickly, returning to Sussurus and leading the horse to the front of the army. Her guards followed, closing around her in a tight semi-circle. “Aldhelm, address the fyrd.”

Aldhelm raised his sword, a wordless call for silence. The agitated men gave him their full attention.

“Mercia has endured much. While our cousins in Wessex thrive in rich land, we struggle through long winters. While Wessex builds ornate churches, Mercia sees our homes burned by raiders and stolen by Danes. But we do not falter. Though we have lost many of our kinsmen, we have made new and valuable friends. Today, we stand with those friends. Today, we take our vengeance. Today, we show Oddvar whose land this is!” His voice rose and the man cheered in response, until he raised his sword again. “The Lady of Mercia rides before you today. She has chosen our people. She has listened to our people. And now she fights for our people. Lady Aethelflaed was not born a Mercian, but she will die a Mercian. Will you follow her?”

The men cheered again and Aethelflaed felt their courage echo in her. Aldhelm took his mount and for a moment, all was silent. Even the battle below seemed muted and distant. Aldhelm took a deep breath, then roared out the orders.

The battle was long and deadly. By the time Oddvar’s remaining men retreated, the sun was beginning to sink. Erik looked around at his warriors, those who were left. They were exhausted, collapsing to rest next to the bodies of their comrades. Many of those corpses were already stiff and cold: those that fell while Aethelred hesitated.

Women wove through the field, finding the wounded among the dead and assessing the damage. They carried water and rolls of clean cloth. Erik grabbed a passing woman by the arm, startling her. She passed him a skin to drink from and a swath of cloth to sop up the blood seeping down his shoulder. He thanked her and dragged himself on towards Sigefrid.

The brothers embraced and Erik flinched when the flat of Sigefrid’s blade grazed his arm. “Clean that thing off, won’t you?”

Sigefrid wiped the blade on his tunic. Erik looked away. Too much blood from too many men. This was a hollow victory, marred by betrayal and grief.

They crouched down next to a fire and Erik warmed his hands over the hot flames. His fingers were stiff from clutching his weapons and he flexed them, recalling each man he had killed with these hands. He would see their faces again, each night when he lies down to sleep. He would not forget them.

“He will have to be dealt with.” Sigefrid muttered. Erik did not need to ask who _he_ was.

“Did he run?”

Sigefrid smirked. “Tried. Our scouts caught him.”

Erik looked around at the mess of tired warriors. “Tomorrow. The Mercians have faced enough today.”

The sky was still a smudgy grey when Aethelflaed opened her eyes, shaken awake by Wulfric. She had slept little and her limbs ached from a restless night on the hard ground. Wulfric’s thigh was bound in bandages and he leaned heavily on a makeshift cane.

“You should be resting, Wulfric. I should not see you on your feet today.”

“They have him, lady.”

She followed Wulfric to the edge of the field, where they had raised tents to keep the most wounded sheltered. The brothers stood, Erik with his head bowed, Sigefrid still streaked in blood and dirt. Between them, bound and gagged on his knees, was Aethelred. He met Aethelflaed’s gaze with frantic eyes. For an ugly moment she savoured his fear, recalling the many times he reveled in hers.

“Lady Aethelflaed,” Sigefrid said, “you fought well. But the battle is not over. There is one more enemy to kill.”

Despite her hate for her husband, Aethelflaed felt a wave of nausea. She watched Sigefrid cut off the gag, then she doubled over and retched as Aethelred pleaded for his life. She stood up to find Erik in front of her.

“He cannot live, Princess. His betrayal cost us too many warriors.”

Aethelflaed nodded, wiping the bile from her mouth and feeling tears on her face.

“Let him fight for his life, Lords,” Aldhelm entreated. “Give him a noble death.”

Sigefrid reeled on him with a roar. “He had his chance to fight. He would have seen us all killed.”

It seemed that, in his rage, he would kill Aethelred with a single blow, but Erik stopped him. Erik pulled a long knife from his belt and cut the ropes that bound Aethelred’s hands. He pulled the smaller man up, planting him firmly on his feet. For a moment, Aethelred looked relieved, and his pleading ceased. But then Erik pulled him in close.

“My brother would kill you for breaking your oath to us,” Erik spoke in whisper that only Aethelred could hear. “But me, I’ll kill you for Aethelflaed. For every ill word you ever spoke to her, every inch of her flesh you harmed, every moment you made her feel fear: that is why you die today.” He drew back his arm and stabbed Aethelred in the chest, twisting the blade to be sure the wound was fatal. He let Aethelred’s body fall to the ground.

Erik turned around. Many warriors had risen and joined the crowd of onlookers, including Mercians. But they did not protest their lord’s death. He did not know whether they were too afraid or too indifferent. He looked towards Aethelflaed and tried to meet her eyes, but she twisted away, leaning into Wulfric. The wounded man struggled to support her, his expression wooden. Erik felt a sting in his eye and reached up to wipe it, realizing too late he was wiping a bloody face with a bloody hand. He dropped the knife and walked away from the camp. The fight was won.

Aethelflaed breathed deeply and stood up straight. She felt Wulfric buckle against her, his leg giving way at last. She beckoned to Osgar.

“Help him to a healer, make sure his bandages are fresh.” Osgar nodded and took Wulfric arm around his shoulder. “Wulfric, when your wound is seen to, make sure my guard is fed and ready to go. And don’t push yourself on that leg.”

Aethelflaed turned back to the bloody mess Erik had left behind. Sigefrid and Aldhelm stood like statues.

“I need a wagon,” she said. No one reacted. “Do you hear me? I need a wagon and men to load the body.”

Sigefrid looked up at her. “Yes, lady.”

“Aldhelm, I leave the fyrd in your charge. Ensure the wounded are cared for and spread word of Aethelred’s death. Once I visit Worchester, I will return to Oxenford for the Witan.”

Aldhelm’s face was pale, but he straightened at her orders. “Yes, lady.”

“There is no Lord of Mercia, but this is Saxon land fought for by Saxon men. You will recognize Aldhelm’s authority. He speaks for me in my absence.” She addressed the Sigefrid directly. “Am I understood?”

“Yes, lady,” Sigefrid repeated. Then he grinned, and for once it seemed sincere, not a sneer or smirk. “Won’t you stay, Lady Aethelflaed? Celebrate our victory?”

“I have a baby to feed and a husband to bury. I have no time for celebrations.”


	23. Chapter 23

Wulfric was jolted awake as the wagon rode over a pothole. Aethelflaed saw him wince and rub his thigh.

“You have been asleep for _hours_ ,” she complained. “I think you are getting too old, Wulfric.”

“I’m younger than you,” he shot back, too groggy to use her title.

“Are you?” Aethelflaed was genuinely curious. She had no idea how old Wulfric was.

Wulfric furrowed his brow. “I have no idea. Likely not.” He sat up and looked around. “Where are we, lady?”

“Just outside Evesham,” Aethelflaed replied, shifting a giggling Aelfwynn in her lap. She was lucky that Aelfwynn seemed to love the adventure of riding a wagon down bumpy roads. “I should prepare.”

Wulfric called for the driver to halt, and the whole party–two wagons and a half dozen riders–stopped on the side of the road. Aethelflaed stepped down from the wagon and as sure as day, when her feet hit the ground, Aelfwynn began to cry.

“Don’t you get out of that wagon, Wulfric. That leg needs rest.”

Wulfric rolled his eyes and Aethelflaed tried to remember the formal, respectful guard he used to be. “The healer said I must make some use of it, lady, to keep it active.”

“You will use it when we reach Evesham. For now, you can sit in that wagon and hold Aelfwynn.” She handed off the child and went about her preparations. She washed her face and hands, which were always grimy after even an hour on the road. She pinned her messy hair under a veil and removed her muddy pinafore to reveal the mostly clean dress underneath. Finally, Aethelflaed put on a heavy silver cross. It was a beautiful thing, but it rattled around her neck on the rough road, and always seemed to find it’s way halfway into Aelfwynn’s mouth.

“How do I look?” she asked Wulfric, “Kind answers only.”

“Like a queen.”

Satisfied, she climbed into the front seat of the wagon, next to the driver. Just then, Osgar appeared on the road. He had ridden ahead to announce her arrival.

“All is well, lady.”

Aethelflaed thanked him and he steered his horse to the back of the party. It still hurt her to see Osgar without Eardwulf, his dearest friend. Eardwulf was one of the many men they had buried after Lichfield. But that was the purpose of this journey: to begin to make amends with all those who had paid dearly for Mercia’s victory. Weeks riding from town to town, listening to Mercians as they expressed their fears and hopes. Aethelflaed had no idea what would come of the Witan, which had been delayed until Edward finished business in the south, but she knew she would come armed with all her knowledge of the Mercian people, and fight once again for the future they deserved.

In each town, they sought out the grieving families who had lost their loved ones in that field outside Lichfield. Aethelflaed would offer her condolences and express her gratitude. With one of her men, usually an older warrior named Godric, she would answer any questions about the battle. Godric was a strong storyteller, always finding a way to make the fight sound honourable without romanticizing it too much.

In the first towns, many people had been astonished to find themselves sitting across from the Lady of Mercia. But word of her mission had spread faster than her wagon and now townsfolk expected her. A man was usually ready to tell her about all the town had suffered and what exactly they needed from the new Lord of Mercia, whoever that may be. Aethelflaed still took her time, though, listening to as many as would speak.

She emerged from a small hut where she had spoken to a stoic father and a weeping mother. Godric had told the woman poetically about how long and hard her son had fought, only falling after he had taken down many men and defended many comrades. As they stepped outside, she shot Godric a look–she didn’t like it when he embellished too much. “He was an archer,” he muttered, so only she could hear. “It’s probably true that he died late.”

The mother called after them. “You must find his widow. She went to fetch water. She’s a stout little thing, name is Marta.”

They found the widow near the next house, laden with buckets.

“Are you Marta?” Godric asked.

The woman cast him a wary look. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

“The Lady of Mercia wishes to speak with you.”

Marta eyed Aethelflaed and looked deeply unimpressed. “I speak better when I am not straining myself.” She dropped one of the buckets with a slosh and glared at Godric. He sighed and picked it up. The three of them continued on towards the hut.

“I understand your husband fought at Lichfield, Marta.”

“That he did, lady, and died, they say.”

“I am sorry for your loss.” It was awkward to be properly solemn while watching someone carry a bucket, but Aethelflaed had learned that most Mercians had too much work to do each day. They could not be idle, not even to speak to a fine lady.

Marta rested the bucket beside a small chicken coop and looked up at Aethelflaed. “I’m not.”

“Sorry?” Aethelflaed asked, not understanding.

“Exactly. I’m not sorry. He was a beast of a man and I’m well rid of him.”

Aethelflaed almost laughed. She felt a thrill of recognition. For weeks she had been playing the grieving widow, one who graciously set aside her own sadness to comfort her people. But there was nothing gracious about it: when she thought of Aethelred lying dead in the brown spring grass, she felt only a twisted sort of relief.

“Well. Then perhaps I should wish you luck with your newfound freedom.”

Marta looked decently surprised. She had not been expecting any kind of understanding. “Thank you, lady. I have chores to do, if that is all.”

Aethelflaed nodded. “That is all. Goodbye, Marta.”

By the time they were leaving the next house, which held a properly grieving widow with two small children, Aethelflaed knew what she had to do. She returned to find Marta feeding the chickens.

“Marta, would you like to travel with me?”

The woman looked up in surprise. “Travel with you, lady? To the next town?”

“All through Mercia.”

“What would I do?”

“You would be my companion. Help me with my baby.”

Marta frowned. “I don’t know anything about caring for children.”

“You’ll have to learn soon enough,” Aethelflaed said, casting a meaningful look at Marta’s slightly swollen belly. Marta’s hands went quickly to her stomach, as if she could hide the child growing there.

“And when the journey is over, would you send me back here?”

“Perhaps not. I could find you a place in my service. Or I could give you enough money to make your own way–find a new home, a new husband.”

“I don’t need another husband.”

Aethelflaed laughed at Marta’s tone. “Then no husband. Whatever you like.”

Marta sighed. “Alright. Yes. I’ll join you, lady. But I ask one favour.”

Aethelflaed eyed her suspiciously. “Let’s hear it.”

“Will you announce my departure, all proper, so everyone can hear?”

“Of course I will. It’s a fine thing, to enter the service of the Lady of Mercia.”

Marta smiled contentedly.

“Are all babies this dull?”

Marta was bent over the bassinet in the back of the wagon. The bassinet had been carefully secured and insulated against bumps. Aelfwynn was cozy inside, occasionally squawking and kicking her chubby legs.

Wulfric huffed from the driver’s seat. “Don’t you say that about my Lady Aelfwynn. She is busy growing and learning. She learns more in a single day than you have in your whole wretched life.”

Aethelflaed laughed. “Leave her be, Wulfric. She has not had time to fall in love with my perfect child.”

On cue, Aelfwynn began to wail.

“She’s crying. Lady, why is she crying? What do I do?” Marta sounded panic.

“You pass her to me. She is hungry.”

They rode in silence for a time while Aelfwynn fed.

“Is it true you killed your husband, lady?”

Wulfric swivelled in his seat, ready to scold Marta.

“Eyes on the road, Wulfric,” Aethelflaed advised him. “Erik Thurgilson killed my husband. I thought everyone knew that.” There had been many witnesses to the killing and the news had spread quickly.

“Yes, but they say you let it happen, that you let Lord Aethelred die.”

Aethelflaed exhaled, thinking on an answer while she switched Aelfwynn to the other side. “What was I to do, Marta? One woman against two warlords. I could not have stopped it.”

“You had an army behind you, did you not?”

“Marta–” Wulfric spoke sharply.

“Wulfric, it’s alright, she is just curious.”

“No one should pose such bold questions to a lady of your rank.”

“As if you don’t pose such questions with that expressive face of yours, Wulfric.”

Wulfric frowned. “I don’t put them into words, lady.”

“How noble of you,” she replied dryly. “Marta, I did have an army with me. Perhaps I could have saved Aethelred, but then we would be at war with the brothers, and more Mercians would be dying. Besides, I believe that Aethelred chose his fate. If he wanted the brothers’ mercy, he would have kept his oath. And if he wanted his wife to save him–well, he should have been a man worth saving.”

Marta considered her words, then understood. “That’s why you like me. Because you’re not a real widow either, not in your heart.”

Aethelflaed caught her gaze. “I’m not so sure I like you yet, Marta.” The woman smiled. “But yes, I think we understand each other.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before Marta came alone, the guards helped look after Aelfwynn. A bunch of warriors, taking care of a child, like some kind of Saxon babysitters club. Wish I could spend more time on it, but I'll just have to go rewatch Season 4.


	24. Chapter 24

Aethelflaed did like Marta after all. True, Marta was so direct as to be insolent at times, but she was good-humoured and gentle with Aelfwynn, who she soon grew to love. Her attitude towards Aethelflaed grated on Wulfric. He, too, was fairly informal with the Lady of Mercia, but he believed he had earned that intimacy after years of loyal service. He seemed to resent Marta for never respecting Aethelflaed to begin with. Aethelflaed often had to interrupt their bickering, threatening to separate them. Since Wulfric could not yet ride a horse with his leg, and Marta stayed so close to the child, this would mean banishing Wulfric to the other wagon. He refused this outcome, feeling it was shameful to ride around in wagon without even the pretence of protecting Aethelflaed, so he would be the one to calm down, staring straight ahead and ignoring Marta’s quips.

Aethelflaed did not agree that Marta was disrespectful. She appreciated Marta’s candour and openness. She found Marta’s company relaxing, after years of carefully masking her true feelings and trying to interpret the motive behind others’ flattering words. Her new friend meant what she said and said what she meant. She only needed to be managed. Aethelflaed had learned the hard way that Marta could not be trusted around mourning families, as she lacked the tact to navigate their grief. But she could look afterAelfwynn while Aethelflaed visited with the Mercians, and it was a relief for Aethelflaed to know that her daughter was always safe and sound.

Aethelflaed even grew to appreciate Marta’s quarrels with Wulfric, as they spoke to Marta’s comfort with him. It wasn’t clear what her husband had put her through, but Marta was fearful of most men. She avoided being alone with them. Aethelflaed’s guards soon learned to be cautious and let her warm to them in her own time. It was an adjustment for them all, as the men were used to visiting with Aelfwynn often, finding new ways to make her laugh and cheering on each new development in her learning. But when Aelfwynn was in Marta’s care, they gave the woman a wide berth.

“How do you handle it, Wulfric?” Aethelflaed asked, on a morning that smelt like rain. She sat next to Wulfric while he drove and Marta slept with Aelfwynn in the back.

“Handle what, lady?”

“The loneliness.”

“Am I lonely?”

“Aren’t you?” Aethelflaed sat up and looked at him intensely. “Do you have someone, Wulfric?”

“I don’t believe that is any business of yours, lady.”

Aethelflaed huffed.“You know everything of my life and I know so little of yours. It isn’t fair, Wulfric.” She was behaving like a child, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Perhaps I don’t wish to know so much about your life, lady.” His tone was teasing and she nudged him in frustration. “There is…someone. A carpenter.”

Aethelflaed gasped. “Where?”

“In Oxenford.”

“Wulfric! You should have told me. I could have brought him into my service.”

“A travelling carpenter?” he asked, incredulous.

“For wagon wheels and…wooden spoons.” They both laughed at her ineffectual explanation. “Well, no matter. If you were more open with me, I would have arranged something. You would not be away from your carpenter for so long.”

Wulfric winced at _your carpenter_. “If I desire your interference, lady, I will ask for it.” His tone was decisive. The conversation was over.

Aethelflaed lapsed into thoughtful silence, running her hands over the smooth wood of the wagon seat. “A carpenter,” she murmured, then broke into giggles. Wulfric sighed.

By late-afternoon, the whole party was soaked to the bone. The rain had come and beaten down upon them, weighting their clothes and turning the road into a muddy trench. Marta and Aethelflaed took turns sitting under the small oilskin tarp they had raised on the wagon. While the rest of them were cold and miserable, Aelfwynn was warm, dry, and unreasonably happy, babbling as she watched the steady drip of water through a hole in the tarp.

After an hour struggling through the mud they came upon a small church. The priest looked distressed when they entered and it was immediately clear why. The building was in total disrepair. The rain snuck in through the poorly patched roof. A single fire did its best to heat the whole building, but fell woefully short. And an entire flock of starlings seemed to have settled in the rafters, raising an unholy racket whenever the rain calmed. When Wulfric announced the Lady of Mercia, the priest seemed about to keel over.

“We cannot travel much further,” Lady Aethelflaed explained, rubbing her arms to warm them, “but you don’t seem…quite prepared for visitors. Is there anywhere nearby that could accommodate us?”

The priest took a moment to think it over, then his eyes widened. “There might be, lady, but I don’t think it would suit. No, no, you would be better off here.”

A rat ran between her feet and the brush of its tail against her ankle made her want to vomit.

“Tell me what is nearby and I will decide the best course of action.”

The priest wrung his hands. He was such a nervous creature. “There is a house down the hill. A fine estate. It belonged to a Mercian ealdorman, but that was years ago. It’s a little neglected, but not so bad as this place. No, much grander, warmer, I would think. And well-staffed. You’d be well seen to. But it wouldn’t be suitable, no, my lady, not at all.”

Aethelflaed tried to reign in her impatience. “Why would it not be suitable?”

“Because of who lives there, my lady. No, you can’t go there.”

“Tell me who lives there.”

The priest gulped. “Erik Thurgilson.”

Of course a priest who was scared of his own voice would fear Erik Thurgilson. And of course he would worry about sending Aethelflaed to the man who killed her husband. But she felt a flood of relief. Soon she and her daughter would be sitting by a warm fire, safe under the roof of a man she trusted. Her desire to be dry and well-fed was stronger than her anxiety at seeing Erik, at least for now. “Thank you, father. I will pay a visit to my ally Lord Erik. I appreciate you welcoming us into your church.”

As they braced to go back into the rain, Wulfric glanced one too many times in Aethelflaed’s direction.

“I would prefer if you would not give me that look, Wulfric.”

Marta looked up in surprised. Scolding Wulfric was her job.

“My lady, I only worry.”

“If I desire your interference, Wulfric, I will ask for it.” Aethelflaed tightened her veil and ran out towards the wagon. Wulfric exhaled deeply, mumbled something about fools, and followed her. Marta was perplexed.


	25. Chapter 25

When the servant announced visitors approaching the estate, Erik groaned in frustration. It was surely another messenger sent by Sigefrid, demanding Erik return east. After the battle, Erik had decided to stay in the north to oversee the rebuilding of towns and villages raided by Oddvar. Oddvar had suffered huge losses at Lichfield, but so had the brothers, and this was no time to leave their borders undefended. But Sigefrid would not accept this explanation. He insisted Erik was hiding–though from what, he was never clear. For once, Erik stood his ground. Sigefrid considered anyone who disobeyed him to be a coward. But Erik was not coward: he just saw a different path forward than his brother. He was tired of always looking towards the next fight.

Besides, if Erik _was_ hiding, he had chosen a piss poor place to do it. His new estate was dangerously close to Mercian territory. That would be fine enough if Aethelflaed would stay in Oxenford, far to the south, but word had it she was travelling all through Mercia. When Erik heard she was heading northwards, he briefly considered picking up and moving on, deeper into Danelaw. But that _would_ be cowardly. He would have to face her eventually.

Erik was stewing over his last fight with Sigefrid when he heard knock. He opened the door, expecting it to be the servant with a messenger in tow. It was neither.

Aethelflaed wondered how she looked, standing in the dim light of the doorway. Her skirts were heavy with mud and her veil was loose. She could feel wet locks of hair stuck to her forehead, but when she reached to brush them away, her cold fingers shook. This was not how she had imagined their next meeting. Erik looked achingly handsome while Aethelflaed was sure she had the appearance of a drowned rat.

“I am sorry to arrive unannounced. We could not ride any further in the rain. I hope we are not imposing.”

“No!” Erik replied swiftly, but said nothing else.

“I did not know you lived here.”

“I did not tell you,” he answered, and instantly felt like an idiot. “I mean, I haven’t been here long.”

“Of course,” she said, then waited. Neither of them spoke. The silence pressed down on them.

“Should I leave? My party could find somewhere else to stay. It’s no trouble.” Aethelflaed asked.

“No, please, I–” Erik ran his hands down his face, trying to recover his senses. “I did not want to see you.” He caught the look of disappointment on her face. “No! I did want to see you, it is only that–I was not sure, I _am_ not sure if…” He trailed off, letting out a huff of frustration.

Aethelflaed suppressed a grin. “I believe there has been a mistake.” He glanced at her in surprise. “I was told that Erik Thurgilson lives here. You may have heard of him? He is a warrior, very handsome, very smart, _very_ charming. They say he could seduce anyone. He’s famous for his gift with words. Perhaps you know where I could find him?”

Erik grinned sheepishly, feeling some of the tension drain out of his body. “I am nervous.”

She nodded as if she understood, but then she asked: “Why?”

“Aethelflaed, you know why.”

She took a step towards him. “Tell me.”

Erik sighed. “Aethelflaed, please…” She just stepped closer, ignoring his half-hearted protest.

“Tell me why I make you nervous.”

“Because I spend all my days missing you, and now that you’re here, my mind does not know what to do with itself.” He closed the gap between them. “I cannot think for wanting you.”

Aethelflaed smiled. “There are those pretty words. So you _are_ Erik Thurgilson after all.”

They were so close that she thought she could hear his heart beating, but then she realized it was her own quick pulse, trying to keep up with the nervous energy coursing through her. She wondered, if she touched him, would there be a spark? A real one, hot enough to catch.

There was a sound at the door and it broke her reverie. She stepped back, just before the door opened, revealing an angry-looking Marta followed by a frantic guard.

“I’m sorry, lord, she would not listen to me.”

“It’s alright, Leif. I should not have kept Lady Aethelflaed so long, she needs to dry off. Take her and her companion to their room.”

Marta took Aethelflaed’s arm and Aethelflaed realized that the woman was worried. Marta, who shied away from most men, would not leave her lady alone with a warlord.

“I will see you at dinner, Lady Aethelflaed,” Erik called. Aethelflaed felt his eyes on her, and she wondered if Marta might be right after all. Even after all these months, this thing between them was too dangerous.

That evening, they ate well in Erik’s hall. Aethelflaed’s guards were seated on long benches. They were jovial, happy to be inside and drinking ale after the miserable ride. Erik and Aethelflaed sat at one end of the table, alongside Wulfric (“my old friend,” Erik called him, unbothered by Wulfric’s indifference) and Marta. Aelfwynn was in the corner, babbling to a couple of doting servants.

“I hear you are traveling all around Mercia, Lady Aethelflaed,” Erik’s use of her title felt strangely formal,but she could tell he was more relaxed in her presence now that they were not alone. “speaking to your people. About the battle?”

“Yes. I suppose you could say I have been offering my apologies.”

“Do you have any apologies for me?”

His tone was playful, but Marta immediately scowled. “As if my lady would have any reason to apologize to a heathen like you.” Erik looked surprise at her aggression.

“Marta, please. He meant no offence,” Aethelflaed softly scolded. “Besides, though I did not plan to visit here, I do owe Lord Erik some apologies.”

Marta looked unconvinced, but sat back in her seat to continue eating.

“Tell me, Lady Aethelflaed, how do you incite such fierce loyalty? I’d like to have companions who scowl and berate on my behalf.” Marta glared at Erik, but he was glancing in Wulfric’s direction.

“I think you’ll have more loyal followers now that you’re away from Sigefrid,” Aethelflaed answered.

“Are you suggesting that some people don’t _like_ my gentle, kind-hearted brother?”

Aethelflaed laughed. “How is he?”

“He is well. He is angry with me. But he thinks the world of you, lady.”

“Does he?” Aethelflaed felt a hint of pride, though Sigefrid was not the best judge of character.

“Well, he does not think you are a coward, which is as high praise as he can give.” Erik paused to refill their cups. “And Wulfric, has your leg recovered since Lichfield?”

“Yes, lord, it is as strong as ever.”

Erik caught Aethelflaed’s frown. “I’m not sure your lady agrees.”

“Lady Aethelflaed is too soft on me. My wound is healing well, I just need to rebuild my strength. My plan,” he lowered his voice conspiratorially, “is to be walking on my own before Lady Aelfwynn is.”

“Then he will be fit to chase her around,” Aethelflaed said, “keep her from getting into mischief.”

“Like her mother,” Erik added and Wulfric snorted. Marta scowled again.

“I do not like that man,” Marta announced, when they were back in their room.

Aethelflaed half-listened while she finished changing Aelfwynn.

“My lady, that man is rude and vulgar-looking. Did you see his tattoos? And the way he spoke to you, lady, oh I could just pinch him.”

“Are you going to sleep tonight, you silly girl?” Aethelflaed murmured as she wrapped Aelfwynn up.“Are you?”

“There is not a single cross in this house, did you notice? He would probably kill a priest sooner than tolerate one.”

“I believe some of the servants were wearing crosses, Marta.”

“Those poor people, forced to serve a pagan. And did you hear how he spoke to you! So disrespectful.”

“Marta! Sit. Stop. You are giving me a headache.” Marta settled on the side of the bed, arms crossed. “Lord Erik is a decent man. He spoke to me just fine. He has always teased me, it is his way.”

“I do not like him.”

“My dear,” Aethelflaed joined Marta on the bed. “I know you are ill at ease with men.” Marta winced, and Aethelflaed took her hand. “You do not need to tell me why. You do not even need a reason. You are a smart, capable woman and you move through this world carefully. I admire that. Now you are in my service, so you are my responsibility. I cannot promise to always keep you safe–no one can–but I will never knowingly put you in danger, and I will heed that gut of yours when it protests. However, there will be times when I need you to trust me.”

“Is this one of those times?”

“I’m afraid it is. Erik Thurgilson is a friend of mine. You do not need to like him. You do not even need to speak to him. But you must know that he will not harm us. I feel safer here than in my own estate in Oxenford. Can you trust in that?”

Marta sighed. “I suppose I can, though I do not understand it.”

“Thank you, Marta. Now I am exhausted. Please, let’s get some sleep.”

By the time she rose the next morning, Erik had left his estate, gone to oversee the rebuilding of farms to the north. Aethelflaed felt a twinge of relief: she had no idea what, if anything, would come next for them. She set those worries aside and spent a leisurely day in Erik’s hall. After weeks on the road, every day spent riding or meeting with Mercians, she appreciated a day of rest.

Erik did not return until mid-evening. Aethelflaed’s guards were gathered in a corner of the hall, not fully at ease with Erik’s men. But when Erik presented a keg of ale he had picked up during his day’s travel, a cheer went up among both groups. Marta excused herself, taking Aelfwynn with her, but Aethelflaed stayed, taking a seat at the table and reaching for a cup of ale.

Before long, the men were in good cheer and they began to trade stories of triumphs and mischief. There was laughter and jeers, especially when someone was suspected of stretching the truth. Erik, seated at the head of the table, did not share any tales of his own, but took his turn translating for the sake of the Aethelflaed and the others who didn’t speak Norse.

After another round of ale was poured, Leif spoke up from the far end of the table. “There is a story I have been wanting to hear, and I reckon tonight is the night.” There was a gleam in his eye, and the whole group fell silent, eagerly anticipating his request. “I want to hear how Erik Thurgilson, the great warrior, was captured by Aethelflaed of Mercia.”

Aethelflaed’s men tensed, waiting for Erik’s reaction, but Erik was not easily angered and his warriors were free to challenge and tease him. He shrugged at Leif’s request. “Not my finest hour, but a worthy story. And there’s many here who can tell it.” He looked around the table, scanning the faces of Aethelflaed’s men. “Wulfric. Tell my men how your lady got the better of me.”

To Aethelflaed’s surprise, Wulfric downed his ale and leaned forward, pausing to be sure his audience was ready.

“We had been on the road for weeks, trying to scrounge the silver to ransom Uhtred of Bebbanburg. It was an absurd amount of silver, and we’d no hope of getting it, but you know how stubborn my lady is. She refused to go home until we found a way to free Uhtred. Course, the Lord of Mercia being who he was, she didn’t have much to go home to.” There was ripple of laughter around the table and Aethelflaed shook her head in good-humoured shock. Just how much had her captain had to drink?

“But we were running out of options when I had a stroke of good fortune. I shared my bread with a traveller, a half-starved, ragged looking man. He asked me for some coin, just to get him on his way. Generous man that I am, I opened my purse–on the condition that he tell me something worth my while. And he did. He told me of a Northman he’d seen the day before, a lord, he said, of some importance. When I heard the man’s name, I knew I was saved. My Lady Aethelflaed would not throw me aside in favour of a better warrior.”

Aethelflaed laughingly interjected, “Wulfric, I would never forsake you. You are _the_ finest captain.”

“Even with one bum leg?” one of her men asked.

“Wulfric could have no legs and he’d still outshine the lot of you,” Aethelflaed said.

“Thank you, lady,” Wulfric bowed his head to her. “You see her faith in me? It’s all because I brought her to that man at the end of the table.”

Erik grinned broadly. “So we are great friends after all, Wulfric. You have me to thank for your success.”

“I think I have your foolishness to thank, lord.”

Wulfric carried on, describing their plan to catch Erik: the men’s distraction and Aethelflaed’s plea for Erik’s help. Osgar was translating into Norse and there was a sharp burst of laughter from the Northmen. Aethelflaed saw Erik rolling his eyes. “Osgar is…exaggerating,” he explained.

When Wulfric reached the moment of Erik’s capture, Aethelflaed held her breath. Would he mention the kiss? That unexpected gesture that had left Erik vulnerable to Wulfric’s knife and Aethelflaed vulnerable to Erik’s charms? But even in his cups, Wulfric was loyal and cautious, describing how Aethelflaed told such an enthralling tale that Erik did not even notice Wulfric sneak up behind him.

Aethelflaed and Erik’s eyes met for just a moment, acknowledging the lie. Erik felt a familiar ache in his heart, remembering that first kiss. If he had been more careful that night, he might be a richer man: leading a great army into Wessex with his brother at his side. He certainly wouldn’t spend all his nights and half his days pining for a woman he could not have. But he had meant what he had said back in Oxenford: he did not regret it, not for a moment.

Erik was pulled out of his thoughts by a cheer from the Saxon guards. Wulfric had finished his story and everyone was toasting Aethelflaed’s heroics. She looked equal parts smug and embarrassed. Laughing, she called for another tale, this time from one of the Northmen.

It was late when Aethelflaed left the hall, making her way towards the room where Marta and Aelfwynn already slept. Her head was light from the ale and the servants had all gone to bed, leaving a dark hallway for her to navigate.

“Are you lost, princess?”

Aethelflaed jumped a little at the sound, but calmed when she realized who it was. She moved towards the voice and by the time her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Erik was right in front of her.

“How fortunate that you have found me,” she whispered and leaned into him, resting her forehead against his shoulder. He folded his arms around her and she sighed at the feeling of him, so warm and steady.

“You should go to your room and get some sleep,” he murmured after a long moment.

“I think I’d like to go to _your_ room and get no sleep.”

Erik chuckled softly, but then pulled back, out of their embrace. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

Aethelflaed stared at him. “Yesterday you said…you made me think that you wanted me.”

“I do, of course I do. But there are things we need to discuss. This time I can’t–” he paused. “I need to know if there is chance for us, before I am in too deep.” Even as he said it, he knew it was too late. He had never stopped loving her. He could not stop now. “Can we find the time tomorrow? I will take you for a ride to the Roman ruins. Will Wulfric let you out of his sight?”

“Wulfric cannot ride yet. And he knows enough to let me be.”

“And Marta?”

Aethelflaed laughed at his expression when he said the woman’s name. “She hates you. But I wouldn’t worry. She will stay with Aelfwynn.”

“Good,” Erik took her by the hand. “Now let me deliver you safely to your door.”


	26. Chapter 26

“You haven’t asked about the next Lord of Mercia, Lord Erik.” Aethelflaed was seated at the table with Erik and Wulfric, eating some breakfast.

Erik shrugged. “Since I killed the last one, I assumed it was not my place. So who is to run Mercia?”

Wulfric answered while Aethelflaed attended to the squirming child in her lap. “It has not yet been decided. There is to be a Witan in Oxenford, but it has been put off so King Edward can attend. For now, he is busy elsewhere.”

“Edward will not get a say in the Witan, will he? It’s not his kingdom.”

“No, but he will exert his influence. Or, more accurately, his advisors will exert _their_ influence.”

“But it is not at all clear who will be chosen,” Aethelflaed added. “There are no clear contenders.”

Erik looked confused. “What about you?”

Aethelflaed waved away Erik’s question, as if it was inconsequential.

“You are the clear choice. You have led well. You led the fyrd at Lichfield. You have been the Lady of Mercia for years, why not continue?”

“He’s right, my lady,” Wulfric interjected. “It’s what I’ve been saying for weeks. You know Mercia better than anyone. The people already trust and respect you. You have a close relationship with Wessex and with Danelaw–” he paused, embarrassed at the implication.

“They will not choose a woman,” Aethelflaed said dismissively. “There is no use thinking on it.”

“Mercia deserves a strong leader, lady. There is no one better suited than you.”

“Wulfric, we have been over this. To even be considered, I would have to push for it, and I do not want to.”

“Why not?”

She looked up at Erik, her expression guarded. “Whoever is chosen, I will be ready to offer them my counsel, but I will not be the ruler of Mercia.”

“Who sits in Oxenford since Aethelred’s death?” Erik asked.

“Aldhelm.”

“Aethelred’s man?” his tone was apprehensive.

“Not Aethelred’s man. Mercia’s man.”

Erik looked doubtful.

“He has not always be a decent man,” Aethelflaed acknowledged, “but he did well in the spring. He foresaw that Aethelred would fail, and he prepared me to lead the men instead. He saw to my safety. He got the men on my side.”

Wulfric nodded in agreement. “He’s a better man than I thought. If he were Lord of Mercia, he would take your counsel, lady.”

They fell silent again, contemplating the future of Mercia. Aelfwynn, not understanding the seriousness of politics, began to cry, and Aethelflaed excused herself to go change the child.

Erik tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. “It should be her, Wulfric. With all the worthless men leading armies and kingdoms, Lady Aethelflaed should have her chance to rule.”

“I know it, lord. But she is stubborn. It’s what would make her a fine leader and it’s what may keep her from becoming one.” He looked up at Erik, an odd expression on his face. “Besides, lord, the Lady of Mercia has little freedom. She is watched and judged and held to her duties. I think my lady wants to choose her own path, find her own happiness. I think she has waited for that long enough, don’t you?”

Wulfric left the table, not waiting for a reply. His question lingered in the air, kindling hopes Erik had worked hard to dim.

When Erik and Aethelflaed left for their ride, Wulfric settled down in the hall, stretching his leg out onto a bench. He wouldn’t let on to Aethelflaed how much it ached, or how quickly it tired. He wasn’t certain why; she would not send him away, not after all their years together, but she might urge him to rest more, to let someone else take over some of his duties. He loved his work as the captain of her guard and he wasn’t ready to give it up, even if he wasn’t fit to do it.

Marta came over and set a mug down next to him. “Just a cup of tea, Wulfric, for the pain.”

He smiled up at her, but it turned to a grimace when he moved too quickly and disturbed his leg. “God love ya, Marta.”

They sat in companionable silence for a time, Aelfwynn rolling and crawling on a blanket between them.In the few weeks since Marta had joined their party, they had developed a kind of agreement: she saw his pain and treated it as best she could, with teas and salves she seemed to conjure out of nowhere, and he always kept a close eye on her, finding ways to make her comfortable on the rough rides and in unpredictable accommodations. Whether he was folding a cloak to put behind her aching back or finding an excuse to stop the caravan until her nausea had passed, he helped her through her pregnancy without making her feel weaker. Though they didn’t always get along, they cared for each other in their own quiet ways.

Marta sighed and tossed her mending down in her lap.

“What is it, Marta?” Wulfric asked without even looking up.

“I am worried about Lady Aethelflaed.”

“Lady Aethelflaed is just fine. She doesn’t need you worrying over her.”

She gave him a look like she pitied his ignorance. “There are things you do not _know_ , Wulfric. Things only a woman could see.”

“There are many things I don’t know. There are many things I should not know, either.”

Marta huffed in frustration. “You are not taking me seriously.”

“No, I am not,” Wulfric replied calmly. “But either you want to talk about something or you don’t, and sitting there smug-like with your _womanly wisdom_ is not getting us anywhere.”

“Fine, I will tell you, Wulfric, but you must not say anything. I think she cares for that man.”

“And which man is that?”

“Wulfric!” Marta was growing more frustrated and she could tell he was half enjoying it.

“Sorry. You think she cares for Erik Thurgilson. On what grounds?”

“She _smiles_ at him, Wulfric. And not those half-false Lady of Mercia smiles. Real smiles.”

“That is weak, Marta.”

“Well that is not all.” She paused, as if waiting for him to urge her on, but then grew too impatient. “She was late to bed last night.”

Wulfric sighed in exasperation. “We all were, Marta. In fact, the rest of us–Erik included–were still awake long after she left.”

“You do not understand, Wulfric! There is a way about her. That man makes her behave…different. And him a Northman, and a pagan, and the man who killed her husband! It’s improper, even if it is only friendship.”

“If you wanted a proper lady, Marta, then you have followed the wrong woman.”

“I thought you respected her!”

“I do,” Wulfric said sharply. “Lady Aethelflaed is the best woman I have ever known. There is no one I would rather serve. But she is just a person. She has her weaknesses, just like everyone else.”

Marta narrowed her eyes. “And that man: is he one of her weaknesses?”

Wulfric shook his head. “All I will say is you might as well get used to him, Marta. He is a part of her past and he will play a part in her future, I am sure of it.”

Erik and Aethelflaed rode to the ruins: crumbling stone walls outlining what must have been a small building. Aethelflaed settled on a low wall and waited for Erik to join her.

“It was good to see you laugh last night. You did not laugh when…”

“When I was with Aethelred?” Aethelflaed looked up at him. “No, I did not.”

“I am sorry, you know, for my part in it. For killing him.”

“Are you really?” she asked and looked at him searchingly. “I don’t believe you are. But let’s not waste words on him. Many men died at Lichfield. He was only one of them. Tell me what you wanted to discuss.”

“I intended to ask if there is any kind of future for us, but–”

“But?” Aethelflaed was apprehensive.

Erik exhaled. “But now I want to ask you about Mercia. Aethelflaed, you should take the throne. You _are_ the Lady of Mercia, it is only right.”

“That didn’t sound like a question to me.”

He rolled his eyes at her evasiveness. “Why won’t you lead Mercia?”

“I do not want to.”

“It is not that simple. You would be an excellent leader. You _are_ an excellent leader. You have compassion, intelligence, strength–”

“If I could take the position and spend my time leading Mercia, working for the safety and happiness of my people, then I would do it. But I am not a man, so I will spend half my time arguing with men, trying to convince them that I am worthy of my seat. I am tired of arguing with men. I am tired of working to please people who will never be satisfied.”

Erik considered her response before responding. “I cannot pretend to know what that is like. But I believe that you have the people on your side. I have not travelled as much as you, but I have hear things. The Saxons of Mercia, they revere you. You fought with them at Lichfield and now you listen to them like no one else has. Lords and fine men–they will always find ways to undermine you, as they would anyone who took the throne. But the common folk will accept you as their rightful leader.”

“How can they respect me, after I led them to their deaths? I do not want this power, Erik. To weigh the consequences of every choice, to see good people die for my mistakes or even for my victories–it is too much. I am not a ruthless warlord. If I lead, I will dwell on every failure.”

Erik laughed, a sorry hollow sound. “A ruthless warlord. Is that how you see me? You are not the only one to carry the burden of war, princess. I am haunted every night by every friend I’ve lost and every foe I’ve killed. It is ceaseless. But it shapes my actions. My grief and my regret: they make me a better leader, and it is the same for you.” He looked up at her, his gaze intense. “And you are already a stronger leader than I will ever be. Back in Coccham, I didn’t understand it. I thought that someone else could take your place. I thought you could leave this life behind and Mercia would carry on. But because of your actions, we defeated Oddvar. _You_ are the leader this kingdom needs. You and no one else.”

Aethelflaed shook her head. “I have had this argument with Wulfric dozens of times. It seems that if I refuse this, a position that has not even been offered to me, that I will have to _fight_ for, then I am putting this whole kingdom at risk. As if I can save Mercia or damn it. I only thought–” she paused and looked down at her hands in her lap. “I was foolish enough to hope you would feel differently, Erik. That you might understand how Aethelred’s death is my escape, my own chance for something like happiness. But I see it now. You would rather be my ally than be with me.”

Erik buried his face in his hands, groaning in frustration. “No, Aethelflaed, that is not what I think. That is not what I want. But I cannot be the man who holds you back. I will not let you choose me over your kingdom.”

“That is my choice to make!”

Erik shook his head. “Not if I take myself out of your life.”

Aethelflaed mouth was set in a grim line and she looked down, unable to meet Erik’s eyes.

As her party prepared to go, Aethelflaed approached Erik. It was strange to him that they could have come so far so fast–from his awkwardness just two days before, to their intimacy in the hall last night, to this tension between them.

“I want to thank you for your hospitality,” Aethelflaed said, “my men and I–we needed this rest. We were very fortunate to have stumbled on your estate.”

Erik smiled sadly. “I do not feel fortunate to be bidding farewell to you once again.”

“This is what you wanted, Erik.”

He sighed. “I know. I think you will understand, some day, when you are old and grey with a rich and happy kingdom all around you.”

Aethelflaed shook her head, as if shaking off the anger rising in her. “I want you to come to Oxenford, for the Witan. I want us to speak again.”

“You want _me_ at the Witan? It is my fault there is no Lord in Mercia. I will be killed or chase out.”

“You will be my guest. I still have my own property in Oxenford and my own authority.”

“People will talk.”

“People have always talked about me. And if I am to be such a great leader, I need to endure it, not avoid it.” She could sense Erik’s reluctance to agree and it frustrated her. How could she be begging him to even consider being with her? “You are not sure yet. Well, there is time to think it over. If you do not come, I will know that your choice is made. Goodbye, Erik.”

As they set off down the road, Wulfric stood and awkwardly hopped closer to Aethelflaed, taking a seat on the bench beside her. He lay his hand on his knee, palm up, a silent offer. She took his hand, clasping it tightly. She breathed deeply, trying to keep from weeping–her guards were not to see her cry, that would have to wait until she had a moment alone. She leaned her head on Wulfric’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why can't these crazy kids just make it work?


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was getting worried there wasn't enough Aethelrik content on AO3, so I resurrected this story.

July. Aethelflaed had been back in Oxenford for a month and she was glad. She hated to travel in the heat. At home in her estate, she could spend the hottest hours of the day in her cool, dark chambers, supervising Aelfwynn while the baby explored the dangerous, exciting world of walking. But this would be Aethelflaed’s last lazy afternoon. Edward had arrived this morning and soon the Witan would begin. She would have little time with Aelfwynn, and though she trusted her daughter to Marta’s capable care, she could already feel the ache of missing her daughter.

She would dine with Edward tonight, in her home. She hoped it was fine enough for him; his tastes had changed since he had become king. He had changed. She remembered him as a sweet, often mischievous child, a good brother. But there was something pale and dark about him now, like he was a shadow of his former self. Was he trying to recreate their father’s illness? Was this just how any King of Wessex looked, always tired, always worn? She worried for him, but she could tell he did not want her concern or her attention. The boy who had followed her through the palace hallways, pestering her for treats and stories and games, had become a man who showed her no affection. Aethelflaed thought she should try harder to reach him, scratch away at this shadowy armour he seemed to have donned, but she was tired, too. She needed all her energy for Aelfwynn and for the days ahead.

She heard a gentle knock at the door and sat up to see Wulfric entering the room. She smiled at him but did not stand. He did not require her to be dignified.

“Where is Marta, lady?”

“She is at the market.”

“Again?”

Aethelflaed nodded. “I think she’s got a sweetheart.”

“Should I find out for you, lady?”

“Wulfric,” she scolded, “Marta deserves her privacy just as much as you do, doesn’t she? Or do you plan on bringing your carpenter around to meet us?”

He blushed. Her captain blushed. It made her happy to see him like that, a little lighthearted, more open. “I suppose she can have her secrets.” He sat down on the chair in the corner, stretching out his leg. He pulled some faces for Aelfwynn, who giggled enthusiastically. “Speaking of which…”

“Speaking of what?”

“Secrets. I hear that Erik Thurgilson has arrived, lady.”

“That old secret. Have you spoken to him?”

“Not yet, but I know where he is. Should I bring him to you? Or is he to stay somewhere else?”

Aethelflaed considered it. She had invited him as her guest, but now that seemed a foolish, risky thing. The king would be in her hall tonight.

“Did he travel alone?”

Wulfric frowned. “He did, lady. I pointed out the dangers of this, but he insisted it worked out well in the past.”

Aethelflaed smile. “Can you have him put up in an inn? At least tonight. Somewhere safe, though. Perhaps you should stay with him.”

Wulfric shook his head. “I won’t be leaving your side, lady, not with all these men about.”

“Fine. But I want Erik to be safe.”

“I’ll find him a room with Uhtred and his men.”

She smiled. “Yes. Excellent idea, Wulfric. And tell him…tell him to come see me tomorrow.”

“Of course, lady. Anything else?”

“Don’t forget to kiss Aelfwynn on your way out.”

Wulfric crouched down. He looked a little pained at the way his leg bent, but he smiled when Aelfwynn grabbed hold of his arm, her tiny fingers small across his wrist. “Good afternoon, pet. I’ll be seeing you this evening, yes?”

“Wulf,” she said.

Wulfric grinned and kissed her forehead.

The meal with Edward was strained. Aethelflaed didn’t know how to bridge this new gap between them, especially since she didn’t fully understand what had caused it. She asked after his new wife, their mother, the many people they both loved back in Winchester. He answered curtly, never letting the conversation gain any momentum. By the time they finished eating they’d fallen into an uneasy silence.

When their plates were taken away, replaced with cups of fine wine, Edward looked at her intently.

“It’s time for you to marry again, sister.”

She had half-expected it, but it still threw her a little. “So soon? My husband has not been dead more than six months.”

Edward shrugged. “The witan is the ideal time to arrange a new betrothal. If you are to be Lady of Mercia, you will need to be wed to the Lord of Mercia.”

“I am _already_ Lady of Mercia. I hold that title without a husband, do I not?”

“The title, yes, but not the power. That is why we are holding a witan, after all. And if the new Lord of Mercia has a wife, you will lose that title. Unless that wife is you.”

“I have had enough of husbands, lord king. I do not wish to marry.”

“This is not about your wishes. This is about the future of England. England is our goal, Aethelflaed, just as it has always been. With you at the seat of Mercia and me as the King of Wessex, we are closer to achieving that goal. But if we lose Mercia, if _you_ lose us Mercia, than the dream of England–our father’s dream–is out of reach.” He took a long drink of wine, then smiled at her. There was no warmth in it. “So, I am going to be lenient with you, sister. I have a list of men, likely candidates for Lord of Mercia, and you may look through it and identify the men you believe would make the best husbands. If all goes well, we will come to an agreement that benefits us both. A man I approve on the throne of Mercia and you by his side.”

Aethelflaed took a moment to calm herself. Her bratty younger brother, sitting across from her in that ridiculous outfit, telling her he would _consult_ her on the choice of her next husband. Ten years ago, Aethelflaed would have obeyed. It would have all made sense to her, that she should do anything for the sake of England. But she was not that girl anymore.

“Lord king, you do not choose the next Lord of Mercia. That is up to the Mercian lords.”

“Of course it is. But I can give my advice. The two of us can make a very compelling argument. And if anyone objects, I will find ways to sway them.” He drained his glass and rose. “Well, sister, thank you for the meal. It is so good to see you are well. I will leave the list of names here, and you can send me your opinions tomorrow, yes? Excellent.”

He saw himself out, his guards trailing behind him.

The next morning, Aethelflaed sat in her hall anxiously. The list was still on the table where Edward had left it. She had barely looked at it, though she could guess which names were on it. She became aware of a nervous energy in the air; her servants were trying to go about their work but her presence threw them off. She took off into her courtyard, leaving the list behind.

Erik would be here soon, and she was no further along in her thoughts or feelings than when she had left his hall months before. Perhaps he would know what to do. But that was hopeless; he would never tell her what to do, and he had made his position clear in their last conversation. He wished her to be the Lady of Mercia, to rule on her own terms.

Marta called for her and she looked up, expecting to see Erik. But it was Aldhelm. She had barely seen him at all since Lichfield. When she finally returned to Oxenford, he was busy with travels of his own, likely gathering information for the witan.

“Welcome, Lord Aldhelm. I’m please to see you. Are you hungry?”

“No, lady, I have just eaten.” He stood in the courtyard, somehow both elegant and awkward, until she invited him to sit on the bench next to her.

“Have you come to discuss the witan?”Aethelflaed thought this conversation would be like the ones they shared before Lichfield: swapping information and breaking down strategy. She was pleased to have Aldhelm here, as she trusted his perspective on Mercia.

“In a way, lady, but not quite.” He seemed a little nervous. She had not seen him like this before. He tended to be calm and collected, even in the face of Aethelred’s rages. “I have come to discuss something…well…”

“It is alright, Aldhelm. If you believe it is important, I would like to hear it.”

He smiled a little. “I do not want you to think me impertinent.”

“You are many things, lord, but I have never once considered you impertinent.”

“How have you considered me?” he asked, his tone a little lighter.

She furrowed her brow to consider. “Careful. Cunning. Good-humoured. Unmoored, for a time, but I think you have found your bearings.”

“I hope I have.”

Aethelflaed waited for him to go on. She let him prepare, taking her time to look around the courtyard, enjoying the flowers in the full bloom of summer.

“I have come to propose a marriage, lady,” he said at last.

“You too?” she asked, a little wearily.

“Me too?”

“Edward was here last night. Sorry, the _lord king_ was here and he declared I must have a husband, the next Lord of Mercia. You share his opinion, I guess. Tell me, who do you have in mind?”

Aldhelm met her eyes then abruptly dropped his gaze. “I propose myself as your husband, lady.”

Aethelflaed was taken aback. She had not expected this. She was not prepared for this. “You would marry me, Aldhelm?”

“I would, lady, if you would have me. I know I am not your equal. But there are people…ealdermon who favour me to take the throne. We could rule together. You would remain Lady of Mercia and I would be your Lord.”

Aethelflaed was speechless. Fortunately, Aldhelm went on. “It would benefit us both, I believe. A marriage to you would excuse my low rank and my lack of connection. I would honour your role and your skill. We are already strong collaborators and–I hope you agree–friends. We share the same respect and love for Mercia. We would be a powerful match. And I would try to make you happy, lady. I would try to be the husband you deserve, the one you have always deserved.”

It was a good argument. Thoughtful, respectful, compassionate. Aethelflaed saw, for the first time, that Aldhelm cared for her. Not just because he cared for Mercia, but because of who she was. She should have been flattered, but instead she felt a terrible sadness. He was offering her a good life, and she could not accept.

“Aldhelm–”

“You need not answer me now, lady. You have many things to consider, and I am certain King Edward has offered candidates of his own, perhaps more desirable. Take your time, please, to think it over.” He had stood up and was stepping back, away from her, towards the door. She rose to follow him. 

“Aldhelm, wait, I’d like to–”

Marta cleared her throat. She was standing in the doorway of the courtyard and Erik was behind her. For a cruel second, Aethelflaed cursed her servant. Marta did not have the social grace to foresee the awkwardness of this moment. Someone else would have had Erik wait until Aldhelm left, or come to Aethelflaed and informed her quietly of Erik’s arrival so she could choose how to proceed. Instead, Aethelflaed was standing in the middle of the courtyard with Aldhelm mere feet away, looking more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him, and Erik at the top of the steps, looking terribly handsome and more than a little intimidating. And then Marta turned and left.

Erik slowly descended the steps and began to approach Aethelflaed. Aldhelm stepped in between them. Erik stopped, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

“Should we call for your guard, lady?” Aldhelm asked, his hand clutching his weapon.

“No, lord. Lord Erik is here as my guest. I have no need to fear him, nor do you.”

Aldhelm had been staring at Erik, but now he turned to look at her instead. He had an incredulous look in his eye. “Your _guest_? The man who killed your husband is here as your guest?”

Perhaps Aldhelm could be impertinent after all. “He is. May I remind you, Lord Aldhelm, that Lord Erik was also our ally at Lichfield, and many months before that. The death of Aethelred–”

“The murder of Aethelred,” Aldhelm interjected.

“–Aethelred’s death was as much his own doing as Erik’s. You know the fate of traitors just as well as I do.” Aethelflaed finally turned to Erik. “Good morning, Lord Erik. I trust you had a good journey?”

“I did, lady. And so far a better welcome than I expected.”

“Perhaps we can change that,” Aldhelm muttered.

Aethelflaed stepped forward, placing her hand on the advisor’s shoulder. “Aldhelm, all is well. I have called Lord Erik here for business of my own. I appreciate your concern as well as your council, but I think we should finish this conversation at another time.”

Aldhelm finally released his weapon, though he was still tense. “Of course, Lady Aethelflaed. I will leave you if, that is your wish. But I will advise Wulfric of your visitor and send him out, in case you have need of him.”

“Very thoughtful, Aldhelm.”

Erik stepped aside to let the man pass, offering a slight nod. Aldhelm did not return the gesture.

When Aldhelm was gone, Erik let out a low whistle. “Quite cold out here for July.”

Aethelflaed smiled. “He is…well, you did not arrive at the most opportune time.”

Erik looked at her oddly. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t know if you would come.”

Erik sighed as they both sat down on the bench. “I made up my mind last week. It was uncertain for a while.”

“I am happy to see you.”

Aethelflaed looked down to where their hands laid on the stone, close enough to touch.

“I am happy to see you too, princess.”

“Lady,” Wulfric said, his voice unnecessarily loud. “I have been sent out here to see to your safety. Are you in grave danger?”

“You can see that I am not, Wulfric.”

Wulfric looked Erik up and down. “Hmm. I’m not so sure.”

“Wulfric has become quite insolent of late, Erik. I have half a mind put him in shackles or send him out to bogs, just to remind him of what a good life he has with me.”

“Don’t worry, Wulfric,” Erik laughed, “she wouldn’t give you up for anything.” Wulfric only rolled his eyes.

“Can you go see to the safety of my daughter, Wulfric?” Aethelflaed asked. “Lately her feet have been under attack by unexpected rugs. You must be the valiant captain I know you are and defend her.”

“Of course, lady. Good to see you, Lord Erik.”

Erik was beaming as Wulfric left. “Did you hear that? He said a kind word to me. Your captain. I told you he liked me.”

Aethelflaed laughed. “He is more relaxed now that Aethelred is gone. We all are. It is refreshing to not be at war in one’s own home. No more marked off territory. No more defense strategies and signals. We all sleep easier. ”

“I am sorry that you lived like that, Aethelflaed.”

“You freed me from it, Erik. It is ugly to see benefit in another’s death, but I am grateful all the same.” She was looking at their hands again. Or, more accurately, at the space in between, all she needed to cross to touch him. “Tell me something, Erik. If you’re here, does that mean you have made your choice? Do you want me?”

He looked at her with torment in his eyes. “I always want you. You know that. But will I let myself be the path you choose? Will I lead you away from everything you could have?” He stood up and paced the courtyard. “Half of me knows that I should go back to my life. I should join Sigefrid and spend my days raiding and drinking. It was a decent life, you know. And I love Sigefrid, oaf that he is. But the other half of me knows what it is to be with you. It has been one year since I left you in Coccham. One year since I was fortunate enough to wake up with you beside me, fortunate enough to bring you pleasure and feel your body against mine. And it has been such a long year, Aethelflaed.” He dropped down onto the bench again, dragging his hands down his face. “I believe that you should be Lady of Mercia. It is the best thing for you and for this kingdom. But you know yourself, and if that is not what you want–if you want me instead–I could not refuse you.”

His speech left her feeling raw. She saw the desperation in his eyes, and she recognized it as her own. It was that ache that kept her awake at night, even when she was exhausted from caring for Aelfwynn. It was the hunger that fuelled her to hold Aethelred at bay and guard herself. Her love for him was a force and he matched it with his own.

In less than twenty-four hours, she had been presented with three possible fates. All of them tied her to a man. That seemed to be inescapable. She could live under Edward’s thumb, empowered so long as she bowed to Wessex. She could ally herself with Aldhelm and give herself over to her people, making Mercia her life. Or she could let herself have Erik, a move that might leave her exiled from her family and from the only homes she had ever known.

“Was it too much?” Erik asked when Aethelflaed said nothing.

“No, it was…what I wanted to hear, I think. But it has been a busy morning. A busy few days.”

He nodded. “Will you tell me about it?”

She sighed. “My brother wishes me to marry someone of his choosing. Someone who will serve as Lord of Mercia, but under the direction of Wessex. And Aldhelm wishes me to marry him, so that we might lead Mercia together.”

Erik shook his head. “You would make a fine pair. Aldhelm is a shrewd man.”

“Yes, but he is not you.”

Something about the obvious nature of her statement made them both laugh.

“Erik, I am so tired,” Aethelflaed said, when the laughter was gone.

“Then you should rest, princess. You will need your strength for the days ahead.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes smut and speeches. More speeches to come! So many speeches.

The first day of the Witan passed uneventfully. The day was short–the gathering did not begin until midday, and the afternoon was spent on introductions, with many ealdermon making speeches about what they thought Mercia needed. Names were offered but there was very little serious discussion on who the Lord of Mercia might be. Edward attended but remained silent, as was right. All the same, Aethelflaed could tell which Mercian ealdermon were being courted by Wessex.

Uhtred attended as well, with his usual crew of men, but said little. It was obvious that some objected to his presence as he was not a lord of Mercia. But he had served Mercia many times and fought alongside enough of the lords for his presence to be begrudgingly accepted. Erik tried to keep a low profile, though his appearance set him apart. Ever the savvy friend, Uhtred dismissed any challenge to Erik’s presence, shifting the discussion to more important matters than the presence of Aethelred’s murderer. Aethelflaed marvelled at his easy confidence. He knew that half these men hated him and everything he stood for, but he took the floor with ease and spoke over them without even blinking. But then, she supposed, his boldness had always been his weakness as well as his strength. It had gotten him into trouble often enough, including in her father’s hall.

When the Witan dispersed, the drinking began. Aethelflaed invited Uhtred and his men to her estate to dine and drink. Erik, who had chosen to stay at the inn for the duration of the Witan, joined them. He was her guest after all, even though she felt uneasy with him after the openness of the day before.

As always, the Coccham crew turned the modest dinner into a raucous celebration. They had a way of drawing everyone into their merriment, including Aethelflaed’s guards and servants. Even Aelfwynn was brought into the party and doted on by Finan and Osferth. She was overjoyed for a while, her eyes wide and her laughter easy. But soon she tired and started to cry, and Wulfric swept her away from the men to Aethelflaed’s side.

“Thank you, Wulfric. I will put her down. You will stay here and mind the chaos, yes?”

Aethelflaed heaved the squirming child over her shoulder. She was getting heavier. She passed Erik on her way out of the hall. Aethelflaed carried the child to the nursery and set her in her crib, soothing her after the overstimulation of the hall. Aethelflaed sang an old song and rubbed the child’s back in slow, even circles. Finally, she heard Aelfwynn’s breath shift.

When Aethelflaed stood to leave she spotted Erik in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She ushered him out of the room and closed the door as softly as possible. Then she led him further down the hallway, out of the range of sensitive young ears.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said, his voice low. “I needed a moment away from the noise.” Aethelflaed thought back to that evening at his estate, when she had become lost in the dark and found herself in his arms. Did he want that again?

“It’s alright.” She crossed her arms awkwardly before her.

“You’re a good mother. I knew you would be, but to see you with her…she is a lucky girl to have such a home.”

Aethelflaed smiled. “She is well-loved, that is certain.” Like the day before on the bench, she could feel the space between them. “Did you come looking for me, Erik? Did you want me?”

Erik laughed softly. “I thought I made it clear that I always want you.”

“But last time, you said you couldn’t risk it. Not without the promise of something more.”

“I know what I said. It was stupid. As if I could still guard myself against you. As if you did not already have all of me.”

He stepped towards her and she inhaled sharply, as if bracing for his touch. He paused, his face inches from her own. Her reaction had spooked him a little, led him to doubt whether his presence here was welcome. She needed to make the next move.

“Can I show you the map again, Erik? I’ve expanded it since you were last here. I think you’ll be very impressed.”

He smiled. “I would like that.”

When they were shut up in the small room, Aethelflaed did not even bother to bring down the map. Not when she could offer herself to Erik instead. He lifted her onto the table and pulled at her clothing. But she would not let him focus on undressing her, dragging him back to kiss her again and again, until they were both out of breath. He leaned his forehead against hers. He whispered something, but she could not understand him.

“What are you saying?”

He chuckled. “Foolish things. I don’t know the words in English to say how much I love you or want you. I need to speak Norse and hope you understand.”

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pressing him against her so they both groaned in pleasure. “I understand.” She pulled up her skirt, angling herself against the hard length of him.

“We should be careful. You’re not with child anymore.”

He was right. They had never had to worry before, as there was no way she could carry his seed. But now, it was a risk. But she was feeling reckless.

“Erik,” she pleaded.

He pushed down his trousers enough so he could enter her. She gasped at the feeling of him pushing into her. It had been months since anyone had even touched her. She clung to his shoulders as he picked up speed, thrusting her against the desk until it almost rocked off balance. Aethelflaed cried out, and for a second she was lucid enough to appreciate their distance from the hall where her guests celebrated. Then the pleasure overtook her again, dragging her up until she came with another sharp cry. Erik finished a moment later and he let out a noise like a growl before slumping against her.

“I missed you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

He answered her with a long kiss.

“We should get back.”

He nodded, but kissed her a few more times before releasing her. They straightened their clothing. Aethelflaed could see a slowness in Erik’s movements that had not been there before, a sadness that made her worry.

“We probably shouldn’t stumble in together,” he said, following her down the dimly lit hallway.

“I’ll check on Aelfwynn again while you return to the hall.” Aethelflaed stopped outside the room where she’d left her child. “Erik?” she called after him, so he turned to look back.“This is not the end.”

He did not look so certain.

Aethelflaed sent the men back to their inn, insisting she needed her rest. But Aethelflaed didn’t sleep, at least not until well into the night. Instead, she sat in her study, the same small room where she had humped Erik, and worked. She reread the hurried notes she had taken during her travels through Mercia and the reports and records she had stowed away. She worked through candle after candle, wasting them away to get light enough to read and stay awake. She only slept a couple of hours, folded in the chair next to Aelfwynn’s bed. When the house was still quiet, she rose again.

Wulfric was still asleep when she knocked on his door, but he answered quickly, immediately ready to act.

“Is something wrong, lady?”

It hadn’t even occurred to her that he would suspect an attack. But he was her guard, and she had never sought him in his room before, except when Aethelred became aggressive and she needed support.

“No, Wulfric, nothing is wrong. But I need your council.”

“I’m a warrior, not an advisor.”

“You are one of my closest friends. Don’t roll your eyes, Wulfric, you know I mean it. I am about to do something rash and I need you to talk me out of it.”

He took a moment to dress and then followed her back to her study. The desk was piled with papers. It was a mess of Aethelflaed’s own making and she walked him through it, page by page. It took a good half an hour, with Wulfric posing the occasional question or Aethelflaed losing her place. But then she was done.

“Well, what do you think?” She tapped her fingers impatiently while Wulfric thought it all through. She had a strange energy, not from rest, of course, but gleaned from something more fragile: hope.

“You were right. This is rash. And stupid, and dangerous. You could lose a great deal of friends, today, lady, and a great deal of respect.”

Aethelflaed’s face fell. “So you’re against it.”

“I didn’t say that.” Wulfric paused, looking over the papers though she knew he could not read. He had refused to learn, insisting that she would not make a scholar out of him and hide him away in some scroll room. “I am for it.”

Aethelflaed laughed out of relief. “It is not too selfish?”

“Every man in that room is speaking for his own needs and desires. Every ealdorman hopes to gain something through this Witan. Why should you be any different? You should do it.”

“Wulfric, are you sure? You cannot mean it.”

Wulfric shook his head. “I should not mean it, but I do, lady. This is what _my_ Lady of Mercia would do. This is what my friend should do.”

She threw her arms around him. He grumbled but endured.

The second day of the Witan began with more excitement. Men were making their arguments for why they themselves or their allies should be named Lord of Mercia. An ealdorman from the east made an intriguing argument for Aldhelm’s claim and competence. Aethelflaed even found herself nodding along. He would make a fine Lord of Mercia. But then she caught him watching her and she realized that they had not spoken since his proposal, and her nods may be taken as a kind of answer she was not prepared to give.

There were three men who had enough support to be legitimately considered, Aldhelm among them. By the time they had returned from lunch, the ealdormen seemed prepared to move on to a more focused debate. But Uhtred stood, waiting patiently for all the men around him to fall silent.

“It is not your place to speak, Lord Uhtred,” an ealdorman named Brogan insisted. He was in favour of Aldhelm.

“I know this,” Uhtred said, “but I must intervene to stop Mercia from making a foolish mistake. You are overlooking the most obvious candidate. The best candidate: Lady Aethelflaed.”

There was a murmur throughout the hall. A man named Eadgard spoke up. “We are looking for a _lord_ of Mercia, not a lady.”

“That is where you may be foolish. You have not truly had a lord of Mercia in many years, not in the way you deserve. I am not the first to point out that Lord Aethelred was inadequate. He did not care for his people as much as he cared for himself. He was greedy and petty where he should have been charitable and compassionate. But Mercia did not suffer greatly under his rule. Why is that?”

Uhtred turned around the hall, truly expecting an answer.

“Lady Aethelflaed,” Aldhelm responded.

Uhtred smiled at him. “Thank you, Lord Aldhelm. See, Aldhelm knows better than anyone. He advised Lord Aethelred, led the troops, consulted on every decision and fought in every battle. But he credits the Lady, not the Lord for Mercia’s successes.”

There were more murmurs from the assembled men.

Uhtred shrugged. “You need me to go on? I will go on. Who has kept the peace between Mercia and Wessex? Was it Lord Aethelred, who turned his back on Alfred in his time of greatest weakness, or was it Lady Aethelflaed? Who has patronized the convents and the abbeys of Mercia, and ensured that yet more were built, so that your sick could be cared for and your God could be honoured? Lady Aethelflaed, of course. Who led the troops at Lichfield and secured Mercia against further attacks and invasion? It was not your Lord. All your warriors know how he failed, how he cowered. It was Lady Aethelflaed who rode first.”

Aldhelm stepped forward. “Lord Uhtred is right. The Lady has devoted herself to Mercia. She was not born here, but she has committed herself to this land and these people. Mercia has been fortunate to have such a leader. Mercia will thrive under her continued leadership.”

Aethelflaed smiled at him sincerely. She had earned his respect through the years and it meant a great deal. The men of the hall continued to discuss amongst themselves. Uhtred took his seat, satisfied that his work was done. He had put her forward. She wondered if he did it out of real conviction or if he had been advised by Edward.

“If we are even to consider this, we must acknowledge that Lady Aethelflaed cannot rule alone,” said Eadgard, “She will need a husband.”

“Will I?” Aethelflaed replied, “How interesting. I was ruling without the help of a husband for so many years, I thought I could continue it. But perhaps you’re right, Lord Eadgard. Perhaps I will need to choose a husband, someone who will be useful to Mercia.”

“A man with so much power will need to be approved by the Witan,” Lord Eadgard countered, looking displeased with Aethelflaed’s attitude.

Edward spoke up: “It is a good compromise. We may choose a good candidate for Lord of Mercia and a husband for my sister. Then Mercia will have a Lord and Lady once again, and we will all be satisfied.”

“Satisfaction for all; I do like the sound of that,” said Aethelflaed. She was being bold, but she was very bored of being complacent. It only got a woman so far.

Uhtred gave her a look and she smiled innocently back at him. The ealdormen began to make their proposals of viable husbands–not so different a list from the one Edward presented. But Aethelflaed paid little attention. She could feel Aldhelm watching her, waiting for her to say something. He was still counting on her. It gave her a twinge of guilt.

Uhtred interrupted a lord. “Perhaps Lady Aethelflaed has her own ideas of who she should marry. As the one who will share a bed with this man, she should have her say. Lady?”

The hall was quiet as everyone turned to look at her. She carefully avoided glancing to the back corner where she knew Erik stood. She had rehearsed this all in her head. She knew her arguments by heart. But it was still a challenge to begin. She met Uhtred’s gaze and he nodded at her, as if granting her permission to speak. But she knew it was an invitation more than permission. She took a deep breath.

“I wish to marry Erik Thurgilson.”

The hall erupted with objections. Aethelflaed surveyed all the people, all the _men_ , all reacting in their own ways. Aldhelm looked down, avoiding her eyes. Edward’s expression was hard and angry. Uhtred looked frustrated, though perhaps not surprise. And Erik: Erik looked shocked. He had no inkling that she would do this.

After another moment, Lord Brogan banged his fist on the table, calling for silence. “Let the Lady speak.”

“I have travelled around Mercia for many months. I have spoken to many people from all walks of life, from brothel keepers to nuns, farmers to priests, and I have heard one thing above all else: they are tired of war. They are tired of losing their sons, husbands, fathers, and friends to mud and swords. They are tired of shifting borders and burning buildings. They want stability, security, and peace. A marriage alliance with Lord Erik can bring that. We have already kept our people safe from further raiding through our alliance at Lichfield. But that is not the end of what we can accomplish if we work with the Northmen.”

“We will not hand our kingdom over to some heathen so it can become another corner of Danelaw,” Lord Eadgard objected.

“I will still be Lady of Mercia. I will still rule this kingdom and serve its people. I would not let it be run by anyone else.”

“How can you ensure that, Lady? Would Lord Erik not overrule you?”

She glanced not at the speaker, but at Erik, still slouched in the corner. “I am confident that Lord Erik would respect my rule, as I will respect his authority over Danelaw.”

“That is a naive notion, Lady.”

“Is it? I have spent much more time with Lord Erik than you have, Lord Eadgard. I know his character. And I believe you to be a poor judge of character, as it was you who petitioned for Aethelred’s rule.”

The men were grumbling now, more annoyed by her answers than placated.

“If you wish an alliance with Danelaw, why not chose the elder brother? Sigefrid Thurgilson may hold more power in the end.”

Aethelflaed could not see the speaker, but she heard the question. She laughed lightly. “Of the two brothers, which would you choose? It is Erik Thurgilson, or it is no one.” She stood, looking out over the room, and repeated herself more firmly. “I will rule Mercia with Erik Thurgilson or I will not rule at all.”

“Then you will not rule. This is a foolish idea by a lovesick woman. We should be fighting the Danes, not lying with them. Our people will not support it.”

“When I visited with your people, Lord Eadgard, they made it quite clear that their most pressing concern was the failure of their crops, not the presence of Danes. If they are not sending men to war, then they will have the labourers and silver to irrigate their fields and ensure better harvest. And Lord Erik’s people in northern Danelaw have done quite impressive irrigation, so I am certain he could find people to advise your own.” She turned to the next ealdorman. “And your land, Lord Brogan, it has changed hands a dozen times in your lifetime, has it not? The population is half-Dane, with many families of both Danish and Saxon descent.I think your people would be heartened to no longer be called to fight against their brethren. And Lord Edric, the town of Chester is down the river from the sea. Your people would prosper if they could build ships agile enough to navigate the river but sturdy enough to sail to Ireland or farther. The Northmen have long built such ships and you could work with them to expand your trade instead of constantly fighting against them, could you not?”

Aethelflaed went on. She addressed the ealdorman one by one, sharing her plans for their estates, their towns, and their people. Her travels had left her well-informed and her knowledge was her weapon. When she was finished talking, there was an unexpected silence. They were actually reflecting on her words.

“What does Lord Erik have to say about this?” Edward asked, and attention turned to the back of the room, where Erik stood.

“Clearly he has petitioned for this,” Edric interjected. “Clearly this is some new scheme of his. He has a reputation as a cunning man.”

Erik stood up straight. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, lord, but this is not my scheme. I have learned of this proposal alongside all of you. Though I wish Lady Aethelflaed had consulted me before presenting this plan to the entire Witan, I am in agreement. It is a good plan. I see the benefits as clearly as she does. And I stand by her ideas–I would bring the knowledge of Danelaw to the people of Mercia. I would honour her rule. I, too, am tired of war. I would work for the peace of Mercians, Danes, and Northmen.”

Lord Edric did not believe him and began to loudly challenge Erik, claiming schemes and invasions were in the works.

Aethelflaed cleared her throat, drawing attention back to herself. “I have thought this through carefully. I know that I would be a capable leader of Mercia and I think many of you do too. You balk at my gender, at the supposed weakness that goes along with it, and insist I need a man alongside me. Well I have named that man, and I have chosen him for all the good he will bring to our people. This marriage will lead to prosperity and peace, two things that I want and that Mercians want. We have seen enough battles. We deserve better. It is a bold proposition, I know, so you may take some time to think on it. But I will say it again: if Mercia wants Aethelflaed as its Lady, then it will have Erik as its Lord. I will not rule without him. I will not take another husband. If the option does not suit, I believe you have three other candidates to consider. I, for one, favour Lord Aldhelm. Uhtred credits me with too much. Aldhelm has worked hard to serve Mercians and has done a fine job steering Mercian affairs for many years.”

Her speech done, Aethelflaed smiled and bowed her head, her own show of respect to the ealdormen who had heard her argument. She calmly walked out the door.

“Were you watching, Wulfric?” Aethelflaed asked a little giddily.

“I was, lady. You did well.”

She reached for his hand and squeezed it.

After Aethelflaed’s departure, there was a clamour of conversation in the hall. Everyone had their own opinion and believed it should be expressed as urgently and as loudly as possible.

Erik stood straighter, no longer trying to go unnoticed. He felt many eyes on him and he surveyed the room calmly, meeting and holding the gaze of many ealdormen.

“We should not have allowed a heathen into our Witan,” Lord Edric declared. “He has seduced Aethelflaed, like their men always seduce our women, and now Mercia will suffer.”

Erik rubbed his mouth with his hand, trying to hide a smirk. “Have you lost many of your women to Danes and Northmen, Lord Edric? If so, I have some suggestions. My advice: bathe often and treat your women with an ounce of respect. It is a simple formula that Saxon men seem incapable of understanding.”

There was some laughter in the room, but Lord Edric was more angry. “He should not be here.”

“He is right, Lord Erik,” Edward said in a hard, cold voice. “You will not have a say in this decision. Your presence is not required, nor is it welcome.”

Erik nodded, reminding himself that Edward was an important man to both Saxons and to Aethelflaed. “Of course, Lord king. I will leave you to your talk.”

He was already in the street when Finan and Sihtric caught up with him, matching his stride.

“Has Uhtred sent you?” Erik asked without slowing.

“He has,” Sihtric answered.

“To guard me or to fight me?”

Finan frowned. “He wasn’t so clear on that, was he Sihtric? I suppose we’ll guard you, just to be on the safe side.”

“I do not need it.”

Finan laughed and clapped Erik on the shoulder. “Based on your actions at Lichfield, I can assume you have many enemies in Mercia. And now Aethelflaed has drawn a larger target on your back. We will stick close, Lord Erik, at least for now.”

Erik shrugged. He did not mind their company.

They arrived at Aethelflaed’s palace soon after. The guards at the door recognized Erik and let him past without argument. He cast a questioning look at Wulfric.

“She is with Aelfwynn, lord.”

Erik thanked him and made his way down the hallway, leaving Finan and Sihtric behind. He found her in her daughter’s room. She was standing by the crib, unraveling her braided hair.

“You wretched, reckless woman.”

Erik grabbed Aethelflaed around the waist, pulling her back against his chest. She giggled, a surprisingly girlish sound after her fierce performance.

“Did I surprise you?”

He groaned into her neck, burying his face in her hair. “You nearly killed me.”

“Are you angry with me?”

He turned her to face him, looking her in the eye. “No. I meant what I said in there. It is a good plan. Bold and reckless but a solid plan. And somehow you managed to frame my most selfish desires as if they were the ideal future of two kingdoms, so how could I object?”

“I have no idea if they will agree to it.”

“And if they don’t?”

She kissed him. “Then I will do what I promised. I will leave the throne of Mercia. I will not rule without you.”

“I do not want that for you.”

“So you are not selfish after all. But if they do not agree to the match, Erik, and I still take the throne, it will be a constant battle. They will find a husband I would not choose, and more than likely he will fight me too. I will lose you and spend my life at odds with a room of men who did not respect my agency when it was most important. That is not the life I would choose.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you? You’ve thought it all through.”

“I have. I barely slept for thinking.”

He sighed and then released her. “We should not be seen together until the decision in made, lest they think this is a love match.”

“Horror of horrors,” she whispered, but she released him too, letting his hand go a little reluctantly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't love this sex scene, but I wanted to get across that they are very horny for each other and can't be bothered to slow things down. Hope it was effective. 
> 
> Also, Uhtred is being such a cheesy hype man, but I can totally imagine it. He likes getting people all riled up, and he likes Aethelflaed.


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone reacts to Aethelflaed's choice of husband

Aldhelm was the first to come see her. He found her in her study. She let him in but then regretted not relocating, as his palpable anger filled the small space. She leaned against the wall, letting him have the bulk of the room. Aethelred’s rages has left her wary of men’s dangerous feelings.

“Is it a love match, lady?”

Aethelflaed swallowed, hard. “It is a strategic match, above all else.”

“But it is also a love match, is it not?”

Aethelflaed’s silence was answer enough.

“What a fool I have been. I heard rumours, a year ago at least, but I treated them as all rumours about you, lady, as foul gossip. I squashed them before they could reach Aethelred. I protected you from them and from him.”

Aethelflaed stared at her feet. She felt a guilt that she should not have. She did not owe Aldhelm loyalty or fidelity, but she regretted his sense of betrayal all the same.

“Then before Lichfield,” he continued, “the two of you barely spoke. I thought that was proof enough. You showed no partiality to Erik, nor he to you. If anything, you avoided each other. But it was all an act, wasn’t it? How long, lady? You must have met him in Coccham.”

Her gut clenched at the half-truth. “He was in Coccham with me, yes. But it began when I captured him and exchanged him for Uhtred. He made his feelings known to me. And I did not act on them then, but…I knew that I would.”

She raised her head, waiting patiently until he met her eyes. “I am telling you the whole truth, Aldhelm, because I respect you. I should have told you sooner, perhaps. I certainly should have been more clear with you when you proposed marriage to me. When I fled Aethelred, I went to Erik. He had promised me his protection. I was frightened and alone. I had no one to keep me safe from Aethelred. You know that better than anyone. You saw it all. You did not intervene.”

He looked ashamed for a moment, but then his anger returned. “And you sought out a heathen.”

“I sought out a friend. When Erik left me in Coccham, I thought it was over. It was an escape from my life, but only a temporary one. It wasn’t until Aethelred died that I truly considered–”

“Lord Aethelred died because Erik killed him. He killed your husband, lady, before your very eyes. And now you would choose him–”

“Lord Aldhelm, do not pretend to me that this is out of the ordinary. Women like me have been used to make alliances for a long time. I am not the first lady of Wessex to be married to a heathen for the sake of peace. Moreover, the sheer extent of war in England ensures that many women are taken by the very men that fought their families, burnt their towns, and yes, killed their husbands. My situation is not some aberration in an otherwise safe and civilized world. You are served everyday by women who have been traded and stolen, used as currency or as a means of revenge. Are you truly shocked that I will be such a woman, as I have been before when I married Lord Aethelred? Or are you angry that I take this role willingly and that the union will bring me happiness?”

Aldhelm was rendered speechless. Aethelflaed took his silence as an opportunity to recover her calm and redirect the conversation.

“I am very sorry that I did not formally refused your offer of marriage, Aldhelm. In a different time, I believe we–”

“Don’t say that, please.”

She nodded. “But I spoke truly when I said you have my support. If you are named Lord of Mercia, I will honour your rule and work with you for Mercia, if that is what you wish. But as your advisor and ally, not as your wife. And if I am to rule with Erik, I would hope that you would serve as my advisor. You are indispensable. Your love of Mercia is unmatched. It is truly a strength.”

Aldhelm’s anger had dissipated. He stood before her looking a little smaller than he ever had before. After a long, tense moment, he sighed.

“I will leave you, lady. I–” he sighed again. He had nothing more to say.

Edward was Aethelflaed’s next visitor. Her talk with Marta the day before had backfired slightly: while Marta did not lead Edward into the room where Aethelflaed was already meeting Aldhelm, she left the king to wait in the courtyard for an indecent amount of time. Aethelflaed clenched her jaw to keep from scolding Marta, who did not seem to understand the nuances of royal decorum. But of course she didn’t–she was raised to be a farmer’s wife, not a lady’s maid. Aethelflaed should have better prepared her for the viper’s nest that was the Oxenford.

Aethelflaed joined Edward in the courtyard. She offered him refreshments, but he refused. His guards were posted around the courtyard, surrounding her, and they made her nervous. She was grateful when Wulfric walked outside. He was only one man against many, but he was _her_ man.

“What do you have to say to me, brother?”

Edward looked at her sharply. “I am not your brother. I am your king. You should not take such an informal tone with me.”

“I thought you were both, Lord king. I guess I was mistaken.”

“I don’t know what you can be thinking, Aethelflaed. To tie yourself to a heathen after everything our father worked for. He would be ashamed of you.”

Aethelflaed flinched at that. It might be true. But Alfred was gone. “I know that when I was still unmarried, our father considered Danes as potential husbands. Some quite seriously.”

“But he chose a Saxon, Aethelflaed. And though you clearly think that was a grievous mistake–”

“It _was_ a mistake, but it has led us here.”

“Do not interrupt me!” His voice was aggressive and she drew back a little. Wulfric began to move. He didn’t appear to be looking at her, just examining the garden beds, strolling the courtyard. But she knew he sensed her unease and was moving himself closer.

“I am sorry, Lord king. You have a right to give your opinion of my offer to the witan.”

“I have the _right_ to choose your husband for you. I came to you the other day as a courtesy, nothing more. You have been unchecked for too long, Aethelflaed. Lord Aethelred truly was a failure to let you grow so bold.”

Aethelflaed let out a small ugly laugh. “Aethelred did everything in his power to beat me into a small, submissive creature. Aethelred hated nothing more than the sound of my voice and the cadence of my opinion. You need not credit him for my boldness, Lord king. That is due to our father and to me.”

“I had hoped–” Edward began, but Aethelflaed interjected once again.

“You had hoped that you could bring Mercia back under your thumb and that I would make it easy for you. You did not understand that I am a Mercian now. I love Wessex, but I will not let it sap Mercia anymore. If I have the chance, I will make this country great, and I will do it with Erik, not with any man of your choosing.”

“I said you must not interrupt me!” He shouted. His hands were fists at his side.

Wulfric had not ceased his pacing and now he came to a stop behind Aethelflaed. With him at her back, she would not cower. She stared Edward down.

“If the witan does not agree to your terms, then you will be sent to a convent. This is enough, Aethelflaed. You have humiliated yourself and this family enough.”

“It is arrogant, Edward, to assume you could succeed where Aethelred failed. You will not crush me into obedience. I am not yours to use or hide away. Now I must ask you to leave. I must see to my daughter and spend time with my God.”

She rose and exited the courtyard, Wulfric mere steps behind. When they were inside, she turned to him, placing a hand on his arm.

“Thank you, Wulfric. You will see that they leave, yes?”

He exhaled. “I will do my best, lady. I do not know if I am a match for the king. Not like you.”

She laughed. “I believe in you.”

“A visitor for you, lady.”

Aethelflaed looked up from the table where she was changing Aelfwynn. “Another one? No rest today, though I suppose I brought it on myself. Who is it, Marta?”

“Lord Uhtred.” Marta furrowed her brow. “He’s older than I thought, but still very handsome.”

“He would be glad to hear you think so, Marta. Can you see to Aelfwynn?”

“Of course, lady.”

Uhtred was in her hall with Finan, Sihtric and Osferth. They looked more tense than the night before.

“Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon, Lady Aethelflaed,” Uhtred said. “That was quite the performance you put on.”

She sighed and took a seat at the table. “Did I leave chaos in my wake?”

“A little. But every Witan needs a little chaos, I think.”

“Is Erik well?”

Uhtred nodded. “I left him with Beocca.”

“So he will be safe but he may have harmed himself to escape the preaching,” Sihtric muttered.

Aethelflaed grinned, remembering Erik’s confusing and imaginative understanding of Christianity. Perhaps he could match Beocca’s zeal.

“I think you should return with us to the alehouse, lady,” Uhtred said. “There are things to discuss with both you and Erik.”

Beocca and Erik were seated in the back of the alehouse. They both looked weary and she wondered if they truly had been discussing Christianity or just sitting in uneasy silence. Finan poured them all ale, but Aethelflaed did not drink. She was overtired and any ale would put her right to sleep.

Erik sat at the opposite corner of the table, which was for the best. She was itchy in his presence, distracted, and the feeling grew the closer she got to him.

“The ealdormen want to know if Lord Erik would convert,” Finan explained. All eyes turned to Erik.

“And here I thought you all would be my salvation from talk of your God,” he said, casting a look in Beocca’s direction.

“God will be your salvation, lord,” Beocca replied. “And I think it is a small price to pay for what you would gain.”

Erik’s eyes darted to Aethelflaed. “You may be right about that.”

“But Erik has his own gods. It would not be fair to deny him Valhalla,” Aethelflaed objected. She loved her God, but she respected Erik’s own version of faith, as he respected hers.

Uhtred scoffed. “The gods do not care for a little ceremony. Erik, I have been baptized twice and I will still meet my family in Valhalla. I know this. It is just a dab of water, nothing more.”

“So pleased to know how much my work has meant to you, Uhtred,” Beocca said drily.

“Beocca, even you love a pagan woman,” Uhtred shot back, “Baptized or not, Erik will worship the gods of his choosing. He will find the afterlife where he belongs, whether it be heaven or Valhalla.”

“Or hell,” Finan added.

They all laughed.

“If they are asking for his conversion, does it mean they are seriously considering this?” Aethelflaed asked.

“Maybe, lady, or maybe they are just testing him, to see if he will really submit to Saxon values.”

That made Aethelflaed uncomfortable. She did not like the idea of Erik submitting to anyone but her. She did not want him to change. He saw her nervous expression, how she worried her bottom lip with her teeth.

“I will convert. Beocca is right, princess, it is a small price to pay for something as precious as you.” He said it quietly, his words a caress across the table.

Uhtred looked from Erik to Aethelflaed. His posture shifted, just a little. “This is real, then. You mean to be together.”

Aethelflaed was surprised. “Uhtred, you have known of our feelings for some time.”

“And I prayed they had eased, lady, that you would be free of them. But I see you care for each other even more than you did in Coccham. I fear what will happen if the Witan refuses you.”

“I will leave with Erik, as Gisela left with you.”

“It was not so simple, Aethelflaed,” Uhtred’s voice was hard. “Men do not give up their prized women so easily. Gisela was the sister of a king, as you are, and I suffered consequences for taking her.”

“Did fear stop you, Uhtred, or her? Do you think fear will stop me?” Aethelflaed met Uhtred’s hard stare. There was tension between them that had not been there before. She had never known him to hesitate in the face of Saxon power.

“She is right, Uhtred,” Erik said. “I have challenged her again and again, but she is stubborn. She will not change her mind. Whatever the consequences are, we will face them together, you and I.” This last part was addressed to Aethelflaed and she gave him a small smile.

“Destiny is all, is it not, lord?” Sihtric spoke unexpectedly. “It would seem that Erik and Aethelflaed have found their destiny. It is our work to help them.”

Finan and Osferth mumbled their agreement. Uhtred rolled his eyes in defeat. “I did not think you would be more difficult than your father, Lady Aethelflaed. But it seems you have your mother’s obstinance in you, too. It is a dangerous combination, but it will serve you well.”

“There is something I have not asked, Erik.” Aethelflaed had slid in beside him on the bench while Finan and Sihtric went to fetch more ale. “Aelfwynn.”

“You don’t need to ask. You would not have chosen me if you doubted I could love her.”

She leaned against his shoulder, allowing herself to kiss his jaw before drawing away again.

“Will you really convert?”

“I will be baptized,” Erik said, a little reluctantly, “but I may be more like Uhtred, more likely to seek my gods in the wilderness than follow you into a church. Does that bother you?”

“No. Though it pains me to think that we will not be together after death.”

“All the more reason to be together now.” There was the sharp sound of laughter from the other end of the table, and he looked up, momentarily distracted. “Should you sleep alone tonight, princess?”

She grinned at him. “Did you have someone in mind to warm my bed?”

“That’s not what I meant. I only mean that you angered many men today. If someone were to retaliate…”

“Then I have Wulfric and my guard, who you know are the best.”

“Where is Wulfric?” he asked, looking around. “It’s strange to see you without your shadow. I miss his glowering stares.”

“He gets time off, whenever I can spare him, like when I’m surrounded by the finest warriors in Wessex.” Aethelflaed leaned over to peer at the door to the alehouse, guessing at the time. “I should go, though. Marta will send out a search party soon.”

“You’ll walk back–”

“With some armed company, yes, Erik, I know.” She squeezed his hand under the table and stood up and checked if Finan was sober enough to take her home. He was not, so Sihtric and Osferth took the job.

As they wove through the crowds–the town was bustling with all the ealdormen and their entourages visiting–Aethelflaed heard a familiar laugh carry over the noise. She halted, and Sihtric and Osferth stopped too, looking at her strangely. She searched through the crowd until she spotted him. He was sitting on a bench outside an alehouse, his leg stretched out before him as it always was this late in the day. He had a cup in his hand and he was laughing as a tall, handsome man with greying hair told him a story.

“Stay here,” Aethelflaed told Osferth and Sihtric, and slipped away before they could react.

“Do you think she understands what it is to be guarded?” Osferth asked. “You’re not supposed to walk away from your guards.”

“Wulfric!” Aethelflaed exclaimed, as if she had not seen him in a long time. “How lovely to see you.”

Wulfric looked embarrassed and started to stand, but Aethelflaed pushed him back down with a gentle hand, taking a seat on the bench beside him.

“I thought you would not have need of me until this evening, lady.”

“You were right. I did not come looking for you, but here you are.” She faced the other man. “And you have a friend! I’m glad to see you have companions besides crawling babies and disgraced widows.”

The man was clearly taken off guard. He gave an awkward bow and then abruptly straightened and downed his ale.

Wulfric let out such a deep sigh that one might think he’d been sentenced to death. “This is Durwyn, lady, an old friend of mine. Durwyn, this is Lady Aethelflaed.”

“I’m pleased to meet you.” Aethelflaed was enjoying this. Wulfric was not. “Are you a warrior as well, Durwyn?” she asked innocently enough.

“No, lady, I’m a carpenter.”

“A carpenter!” she replied, as if it were the most exciting trade she could imagine. “What is your specialty?”

“I work on houses and buildings–stables, doors, that sort of thing.” Durwyn rubbed his neck, then his eyes widened. “Lady,” he added rather hastily.

“I should like to see your work sometime.”

“Lady Aethelflaed, shouldn’t you be getting home to your daughter?”

“Of course, Wulfric. Durwyn, Wulfric is very devoted to my daughter. I think he might be her favourite person in the whole world. She only puts up with me because I feed her.”

“Lady.” Wulfric sounded exhausted.

“I will be going now. But Durwyn, if you are a friend of Wulfric’s, then you are welcome in my home anytime. We have fine food and ale.” She stood up. “Anytime, Durwyn,” she added, grinning at Wulfric, who only glared back. “I will see you this evening, Wulfric.”

Aethelflaed rejoined Osferth and Sihtric with a light heart. It had been a long day, and she was tired of arguing and defending herself. She was pleased to end the day with a little mischief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like this chapter. We're pausing on the speeches, but there are more to come.


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Witan makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More smut here, just a little. What can I say, it's a horny story.

Erik and Aethelflaed both sat before the Witan the next afternoon. Aethelflaed had dressed carefully, in her finest clothes and with her hair in a crown of braids. She wanted to look like a queen. Erik, she was glad to see, looked like himself. He wore his Thor’s hammer around his neck and his leather tunic, even the fur across his shoulders, though it was a warm day.The sides of his head were freshly shaved and he had lined his eyes, giving them a touch of darkness. He had not compromised; he presented himself honestly, as if to ensure the Mercians knew exactly what they were getting. She loved him for it, that stubbornness they shared.

It was Lord Brogan who led the proceedings. He called Erik forward. “The Witan has been informed that you are willing convert to Christianity. Is this true?”

“It is, lord. I will be baptised as soon as the witan wishes.”

“And will you be baptised like Lord Uhtred, for appearance only, or will you attend mass and pray to God?”

“I will attend church as often as my lady wishes,” Erik answered smoothly, “and we all know how pious she is.”

Aethelflaed admired how Erik skillfully dodged the question.

Lord Edric cleared his throat. “Why should we believe that this is not a ruse set up so Danes can further invade Saxon land?”

“I have given my word, lord. This is not a scheme or a ruse. This is a partnership between Lady Aethelflaed and myself, and between Mercia and Danelaw.”

“Your word means very little to me,” Lord Edric replied. “You have a reputation as a warlord.”

“How well do you know Lady Aethelflaed, Lord Edric?” Edric seemed thrown off by Erik’s unexpected question. “Not well, I presume. But you must know of her reputation. She was educated by her father and the finest scholars in Wessex. She was trained by Uhtred and Steapa, great warriors, both. She has her mother’s love of Mercia, and–if rumour is correct–Lady Aelswith’s obstinance. Which is to say she is intelligent, fearless, and brutally stubborn. Courting her–seducing her–is not an easy task. And to do it all for a chance to invade Mercia? It would be a waste of time and effort, lord. If I wanted to hurt Mercia, I would have left if to Oddvar’s army. Or I would have joined with Oddvar’s forces. Or perhaps I would have killed Lady Aethelflaed alongside her husband at Lichfield. All easier and more effective strategies than pursuing a marriage with an exceedingly difficult woman whose values oppose my own in every way, only to turn on her and her people. Which is to say no, Lord Edric, I have no desire to destroy Mercia. If I did, I would not be here before you.”

Aethelflaed had to place her hand on her mouth to hide her smile. Erik’s description of her made her feel a little smug.

“It was a simple question, Lord Erik,” Edric complained, looking a little defeated. “It only required a simple answer.”

Erik laughed. “There is nothing _simple_ where Lady Aethelflaed is concerned, lord.”

The ealdormen had questions for Aethelflaed, too, about her plans for the kingdom, her choice of advisors, and her ties to Wessex. She answered as honestly as she could. Finally, she and Erik were dismissed, though they did not have a chance to speak. He was ushered away by Finan and Sihtric, likely at Uhtred’s behest. Perhaps she could have stayed, if she pushed, but she was tired of listening to the men speak. She gratefully made her way out to the courtyard.

“Well, lady?” Wulfric appeared beside her.

“They are deliberating. But I am beginning to change my mind about the whole thing. I think we should ride away from here and leave these fussy men behind us. You, too, Wulfric, and your carpenter.” She looked at him a little sheepishly. “I’m sorry, by the way. I was too intrusive yesterday.”

“Do not bother yourself, lady. God knows I’ve been brash enough with you over the years.”

“You have, haven’t you. I like that. It’s almost as if we were friends.”

He laughed and she felt a surge of triumph at the genuine joy in his expression. “Did he like me?” she asked.

“Who?”

“Durwyn!”

“Would it bother you if he didn’t?”

“It would. It would break my heart, I think.”

“Then you’re in luck, lady. He was flustered but impressed. I think he expected you to be cold and condescending.”

“Did you describe me that way?”

“I do not have time to talk about you when I am with my sweetheart, lady. There are more pressing matters.”

She smiled. They had been walking as they spoke and they had reached the market in the centre of town. Aethelflaed paused and surveyed the busy square. She would miss this place, if she had to leave.

“Wulfric, whatever is decided today, you know you always have a place in my household.”

Wulfric rolled his eyes a little. “You have said it often enough, lady. You do not need to remind me.”

“But I want you to know that I understand if you do not follow me. You have been loyal, but I have dragged you through so much, and it would not surprise me if you settled here, or somewhere else, chose an easier life.”

“You don’t think serving you is easy, lady?”

“I have been described as ‘exceedingly difficult’.”

He chuckled. “On occasion. But you are also kind-hearted, good-humoured, and loyal in your own way. I have never served you because I had nowhere else to go. I have served you because you are my queen.”

Aethelflaed felt her eyes begin to water, just a little. She suddenly resented Wulfric for this rare turn into sentimentality. “Wulfric…”

“No, lady, you talk enough. Now you must listen. You are a good woman and a good leader. There are many lords and ladies who would have killed me just to learn of my love, but you apologize simply for inviting Durwyn to dinner. You are a rare thing, Aethelflaed. I have never known anyone like you. And if it suits you, I will serve you until I cannot anymore, and I will serve Lady Aelfwynn alongside you, and I will be friendly to Lord Erik, even, though it pains me.”

“That makes me happy, Wulfric. You make me happy.” Aethelflaed began to walk again. “And if you feel our household requires a carpenter, then I will defer to your expertise.”

Wulfric blushed and shook his head, a gesture of exasperation that Aethelflaed was all too familiar with.

By evening, Aethelflaed had been declared the Lady of Mercia once again–as if the title had ever truly left her. The announcement evoked a flurry of emotions: pride, happiness, fear, and crushing self-doubt. She would be held to a higher standard than the men before her. If she did not already realize that, it was made crystal clear by Lord Edric, who seemed to be the primary opponent to the decision.

Aethelflaed found herself looking around the hall, trying to read the reactions of everyone else: Aldhelm, Edward, Uhtred, Erik. But then Beocca reached her and clasped her hands in his. He leaned in close so only she could hear: “Your father would be proud, Lady Aethelflaed.”

“This was not the path he imagined for England,” Aethelflaed said, a little dubious of Beocca’s statement.

Beocca shrugged a shoulder. “There will be no England unless each generation works for it, and as time passes that work will change. Your way will not be Alfred’s way, nor should it be.”

He beamed at her and in that moment, Aethelflaed felt her concerns ebb. Like the tide, they would come back in time, but in this moment, she was on dry, sure ground. This was her moment and her accomplishment. It fit into a larger picture and a longer history, but it was also her’s and her’s alone.

“Will you marry us, Father Beocca?” she asked.

“Of course. But I don’t know if I’d like to baptise your Erik. I fear what will happen to my soul if I keep baptising recalcitrant heathens.”

Aethelflaed laughed. “It’s a shame Hild cannot baptise him. I think she might frighten him into piety.”

There would be a formal celebration after the ceremony, but after the Witan’s announcement, many converged on Aethelflaed’s house. She hurried anxiously to the kitchen, concerned for her staff, but they had faith in her and were already preparing mountains of food.

She returned to the hall where her many friends had gathered. Uhtred raised a toast to her and the room erupted in cheers. Even Marta was partaking, with Aelfwynn settled in her lap. It was all a little overwhelming, really, and Aethelflaed turned to leave again, with the excuse of checking on the inventory of ale. But Erik caught her hand as she ducked out of the hall. He backed her against the wall in the shadowy corridor, just out of sight of the revellers.

“Good evening, Lady of Mercia.”

She laughed as he nuzzled into her neck. “Good evening, Lord.” She tilted her head to catch his mouth then clutched his tunic, pulling him against her for a long kiss. “You look so handsome today. I cannot bear it.”

“Did you have sinful thoughts during the Witan, princess?”

“I might have,” she sighed a little as he nipped at her ear. “Until I was described as exceedingly difficult, and then my thoughts turned to murder.”

Erik laughed and his breath was warm against her neck. “You liked it, I’m certain you did.” He kissed her again.

“So this is it,” she whispered.

“This is it. You’re stuck with me now. You may come to regret it.”

“Never.” She was in the midst of melting under his touch when a thought struck her. “What about Sigefrid?”

“What about him?”

“Will he accept this? Will he be angry? Won’t he want to attack Mercia?!”

Erik laughed. “Did this not occur to you until now? In all your scheming, you overlooked that my brother is a warlord bent on conquering all of England?”

“I suppose I did. I was so preoccupied with convincing Mercia, I did not think of convincing Sigefrid.”

“Not to worry,” Erik said. “I will handle Sigefrid.”

“So he will not mind?”

“Oh, he will mind. He will be furious. There will be raging, violence, perhaps a fire. But I will handle him.” Erik’s tone was lighthearted, but Aethelflaed was worried still.

“I should not have put you in this position. I did not even consider how I might be setting you against him.”

“And I would not have gone along with it if I weren’t prepared for the consequences. Aethelflaed, I cannot live to please my brother, especially as he is exceedingly difficult to please.”

She was placated, for now. “Will you escort me back to the party?”

“I would much rather escort you to your bed,” he muttered, squeezing her ass hard enough to make her yelp.

“Later. We must entertain our guests before we can entertain each other.” But even as she said it, she was tugging him close again so she could kiss him, her tongue exploring his mouth, tasting him. Erik had to be the one to step away and deprive her of his mouth.

“Back to your guests, lady. You have responsibilities now. You can’t be humping in hallways.”

She laughed at his crude words and took his hand, following him back into the hall.

“What I would like to know,” Finan said, loud enough that everyone around him fell silent, “is how the new Lord and Lady of Mercia plan to reward their loyal friends?”

“And which loyal friends are those, Finan?” Aethelflaed asked. “I see only fools and drunkards at this table.” The guests erupted in laughter.

“Oh, you wound me, Lady Aethelflaed,” Finan cried. “Have we not shared many adventures over the years? And many drinks? Shouldn’t you promise us many more?”

“I do, Finan, of course I do. You are all welcome in my home–” Erik cleared his throat. “ _Our_ home,” Aethelflaed corrected, “whenever you louts can be bothered to leave Wessex.”

“She’s getting mean now,” Uhtred laughed. “I think it’s time we let the lady rest.”

Erik stood, “Yes, out with you all, back to your alehouse.”

“Will you not be joining us, lord?” Sihtric asked as he dragged a sleepy Osferth out of his chair. “I was looking forward to another one of our cuddle sessions.”

“Yes, Lord Erik, and I have a woman back at the alehouse who would be perfect for you,” Finan added, “I told her all about you and she is just wild with excitement.”

“Take your men and go, Uhtred,” Erik said, “before Aelfwynn’s nursemaid comes in and damns you all to hell.”

The men left in a huddle, Osferth and Sihtric seeming to support each other as they stumbled behind Uhtred and Finan, with Beocca ushering them from behind. Erik turned back to Aethelflaed.

“Now, love, are you as drunk as you seemed?” he asked.

“No,” she sighed, leaning against him, “just a little giddy. I did not drink nearly as much as those men, even Beocca.”

“Good, I will need you sober and awake for what comes next.”

“What comes next?”

“I take you to bed.”

She followed him down the hallway, but she dragged a little. “Are you sure you should be here? We aren’t married yet.”

“I do not plan on leaving your side until we are,” Erik said as they entered her bedroom. “Besides, no one is in danger of thinking you a virgin. What do you say, princess? Can I stay?”

Aethelflaed stood up straight and considered him, taking her time to examine him from all sides. He held back a grin as she circled him, running her fingers along his arms and back and ass, testing him. She faced him again. “You can stay,” she declared at last. “But you will have to work, like everyone else in this house.”

“What shall I do for you?”

“ I am in want of a lady’s maid, so you will have to undress me.”

Erik obliged, taking his time unlacing her dress and removing her shift, until she was naked before him. He pressed against her bare back and placed soft kisses on her shoulders.

“Anything else I can do for you?” He reached around to cup her breasts, tracing them with his thumbs.

She moaned and leaned back against him, feeling his cock pressing through his clothes. “You will have to ride me, Erik.”

“That I can do, my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worry that my Erik is too perfect. But I don't want to give him flaws, so we're all just going to have to deal with it.


	31. Chapter 31

The next few days passed quickly. Erik was baptised immediately, with further reassurance from Uhtred that such things don’t stick. A ceremony was held to confirm Aethelflaed the Lady of Mercia, conferring on her all the powers of a lord of the land. And then Erik and Aethelflaed were married in a short Christian ceremony, with a promise of a pagan wedding to be held in the future.

Though the summer months held their challenges–Aethelflaed had to set to work on all her plans for the Mercian ealdormen, lest she be accused of shirking her duties–each day ended with the two of them together. The house that had once been a battlefield, shaped by Aethelred’s cruelty and Aethelflaed’s stubbornness, was now a site of mirth and hard work. Erik was on his best behaviour, and soon he had charmed even the most Christian servants, though Marta remained hesitant. Under Wulfric’s advice, Erik gave Marta her space as often as possible.

The one rough spot in Aethelflaed’s new role was Aldhelm. He had not forgiven her for her choice of husband, and though he agreed to serve as her advisor, he was cold and curt in their interactions.

It wasn’t until early September when Erik and Aldhelm were in the council chambers at the same time. Erik had kept busy through the summer. He had sent for his men in the north and arranged a messenger to Sigefrid in the east. He had made note of all the improvements that needed to be made to Aethelflaed’s estate and was overseeing the work, some of which called for a certain carpenter. But when the business at hand concerned Danish traders, Aethelflaed insisted he join herself and Aldhelm.

Aldhelm would not sit down. He was hovering. It was a habit that Aethelflaed had once appreciated, as it had often thrown Aethelred off, serving as a distraction during arguments or gradually undermining the lord’s comfort. But today it bothered Aethelflaed. Perhaps that was why Aldhelm did it–he knew the subtle power of his presence at the corner of her eye, just out of sight. It made her anxious and she tapped her fingers on the table. He must have enjoyed that.

“Aldhelm!” she said his name with the firm tone of a master calling its dog and she was met with a condescending smile.

“Yes, lady?”

“Will you please take a seat so we can discuss the trade issue?”

Aldhelm took his seat very slowly. “I did not want to impose, lady, since you have already called your own advisor.”

“Erik is not an advisor, Aldhelm, he is the Lord of Mercia and our expert on all things Danish.”

Aldhelm simply bowed his head in a show of deference that was anything but sincere. Aethelflaed tapped her fingers more nervously.

The afternoon passed like that, with Aldhelm finding little ways to insult Erik and annoy Aethelflaed. Erik was polite, at first, but he lost his patience. When the subject of inheritance came up, and Aldhelm implied that Aelfwynn would be thrown aside for any children fathered by Erik, Erik reached his breaking point. He slammed his fist on the table. Neither Aldhelm or Aethelflaed flinched. They had become used to such behaviour long ago. But Aethelflaed decided it was time to address the tension.

“I believe,” Aethelflaed said, “that you are creating a quarrel out of nothing, Lord Aldhelm. You are angry and defensive but over what? Nothing.”

“It is not nothing, Aethelflaed,” Erik answered, “it is you. Lord Aldhelm believed he had a claim to you, and he is angry to find that he is wrong. Is that not right, Aldhelm?”

Aldhelm smirked just a little. “I do not think so highly of myself that I would claim King Alfred’s daughter. I know my own worth better than some.”

“Better than me?” Erik asked. “You think I believe myself worthy of Aethelflaed? Don’t be a fool. I am not. But she has chosen me and I am here.”

Aethelflaed sat back and watched. She did not feel compelled to intervene in the argument she had forced.

“That bothers you, doesn’t it, Aldhelm?” Erik continued. “That she chose me. That she wanted me. Do you respect her less?”

Aldhelm looked down. He was frustrated. He would not admit out loud that his opinion of her had lowered, and yet…

“I believed Lady Aethelflaed to be a true Saxon lady,” he confessed at last.

Erik scoffed. “Tell me, Aldhelm, of the three of us, who might be the expert on how to be a ‘true Saxon lady’? I certainly know nothing on the subject. And you, as far as I know, are a man, so who does that leave?”

“You deliberately misunderstand me, lord,” Aldhelm spoke the last word with a considerable degree of sarcasm. “I only mean that I believed Lady Aethelflaed to be pious and chaste. Now that I know she willingly amuse herself with heathens, I am inclined to change my opinion of her.”

Aethelflaed felt the sting of the word _amuse_ , accurate though it may be.

“Ah, I see it now. Your judgment of a fellow Saxon’s character hinges on who they hump. In that case, Lord Aldhelm, I imagine you are hard pressed to respect any of the ealdormen and priests of Mercia. If I am to believe talk, most of them engage in very un-Christian activities, particularly in the local brothels.”

“You would certainly know about brothels, Lord Erik.”

Erik laughed a harsh laugh. “I have no need to visit brothels, Aldhelm. I have everything a man could want in my own bed.”

“You will not speak of Lady Aethelflaed in such a crass manner,” Aldhelm replied through clenched teeth.

Erik’s face hardened. “It is _you_ who debases her, Aldhelm, with your judgments. What does it matter who she takes between her legs? She is still the finest leader this country could ask for. The very leader that you praised at the Witan. You do not disapprove only of her choice of partner, because if you did, you would not treat with half the men in this town. You disapprove of her freedom and her pleasure.” He rose from his chair so abruptly that it toppled over.

Aethelflaed leaned forward, reaching for his arm. “Erik…”

“No, Aethelflaed, it needs to be said. Last year I sat in this very home with this man and his lord. He did not make snide remarks about Lord Aethelred, did he, not when the bastard confined you or insulted you or left bruises on your body. When you were so frightened that you left your own home in the middle of the night, you walked into a pagan camp to find _me_ , not Aldhelm. If he is jealous of me, than he must recognize his own failure to be worthy of you. You did not trust him. He did not serve you, not when you needed it most. So I will not accept his disrespect, not of me and certainly not of you. Lord Aldhelm may be intelligent and brave and loyal to Mercia, but if you cannot find an advisor who treats you with respect, than I believe you should not have an advisor at all.”

Before leaving the room, Erik turned back to Aldhelm. “And the next time you share your judgments on a woman’s choice of lover, Aldhelm, you will be sure to meet my fist. I enjoyed making your Lord Aethelred bleed. I think I would enjoy hurting you almost as much.”

He shut the door forcefully behind him. Aldhelm and Aethelflaed were left in an uneasy silence.

“I would offer my apologies,” Aethelflaed said, “but I don’t feel particularly sorry about anything he said.” She found herself struggling not to smile. Aldhelm looked at her strangely. She could see the anger and confusion in his face, but it did not somber her. She started to laugh, lightly at first then quite loudly. “I liked what he said about the priests and the brothels,” she said, when her laughter had eased, and then she was off again, clutching her stomach and wiping the tears from her eyes. “It’s really quite funny, isn’t it?” she asked Aldhelm.

“I…do not see it, lady.”

“It’s just what you said. I was supposed to be this pious Saxon lady who saved herself for her husband and took pleasure only in prayer. But Aethelred was just awful. I don’t think he even knew that women could enjoy sex, I really don’t. And so I ran away to hump a Viking–” she erupted in laughter again “and even though every Saxon man, from the archbishop to my own father, lies with as many Saxon and Danish women as he wishes, _I_ am the problem!” She was speaking through fits of laughter, but she finally began to calm, catching her breath. “Aldhelm, you must admit it is funny in a painfully broken way.”

“I suppose there is a kind of humour in it, lady. And I suppose I am part of the joke.”

She grinned at him. “I’m glad you see it that way. I hope that soon you can set aside these impossible notions of respectability and help me accomplish some real work. What do you think?”

Aldhelm allowed himself a small, hesitant smile. “I think that would be ideal.”

“Good. But I feel a little exhausted after all that. Let’s put our work off until tomorrow. It’s not too pressing, is it? I think we should have a drink. Perhaps Erik will join us once he’s had a change to calm himself.”

“You were quite fierce today.”

Aethelflaed was sitting on the bed while Erik undressed. He paused to knead his leg with his knuckles, working at an old pain. She was beginning to know every inch of him. She knew the origin of every scar and the parts of him that still ached from long ago battles. She felt almost possessive, watching him. He was hers. She had made him hers.

“He needed to be put in his place,” Erik replied. “There was a time when I would have used a more lethal weapon than my words.”

“I appreciate your restraint. But I also appreciate your anger on my behalf. It makes me feel powerful.” She rose up to her knees on the high bed so she was face to face with him.

“Is it because I am your hound that you can send at your foes?” Erik asked, stepping closer to her. She placed her hands on his shoulders and then ran them up to his cheeks, cupping his face.

“You are not a hound. But you are mine.” She kissed him a little greedily.

“Well, enjoy me while you can, princess. I must leave soon to meet Sigefrid. He is travelling west. I will meet him at the edge of Danelaw.”

“Do you mean to travel alone?”

“I will take my men.”

She made an impatient noise. “I mean, do you mean to travel without me?”

Erik looked surprised. “I did not think you would want to leave so soon.”

“I do not want Sigefrid to think he scares me,” Aethelflaed said, lying back on the bed. “Even if he does, a little.”

“Then you should come,” Erik said as he stretched out beside her.

“You don’t mind?”

“It will give me a chance to show you off. We can have a Pagan ceremony, too, then you will finally be my wife.”

“I am already your wife, Erik,” Aethelflaed said a little crossly.

“Are you? Prove it, then.” And with that, he rolled onto his side and pinned her with a hungry kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter! This story is going to end soon (but how? someone tell me please). There is another version of this chapter where Aldhelm and Erik settle their differences in bed. I blame tumblr for that one. 
> 
> In the next chapter, we get to hang out with Sigefrid and I am stoked for it. He is fast becoming my all-time fave. I blamed MissGuided12 for that one.


	32. Chapter 32

Wulfric stayed behind in Oxenford. Aethelflaed insisted, as she could not bring Aelfwynn with her and she would not leave her child without the finest protection. Wulfric reminded her of his injury and how it had slowed him down these past months, but he did not protest too much. He wanted to stay close to the girl, and he trusted Erik to keep his queen safe.

Moments after they entered the Danish camp, Sigefrid greeted them with a roar. He pulled Erik into a bear hug and his blade pressed against his brother’s back.

“Easy, Sigefrid, one day you’re going to kill me with that thing,” Erik said, shaking his brother off.

“Are you scared of death now? It must be that weak Christian soul of yours. I can’t believe you let yourself be fucking baptised.”

Erik shrugged. “It was just a bath, nothing more. You won’t catch me praying to that uptight god of theirs. Besides, it was a small price to pay to get myself a wife.”

“A wife!” Sigefrid shoved Erik aside so he could look at Aethelflaed, who was standing off to the side, taking in the camp. “You did not need to ride to Mercia to get a wife, Erik. There are perfectly good Danish women right here.”

“They are not Aethelflaed,” Erik replied with a sincerity that made Sigefrid groan.

“Tell me, brother, does she at least fuck as well as she fights?”

Aethelflaed cast a sharp look their way. Erik pushed Sigefrid back a few steps. “Easy, Sigefrid, she can hear you.”

“Does she speak Norse now?”

“She understands some words.”

Sigefrid frowned for a second and then laughed. “She knows the word for fucking. That is good, brother. Well done.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “Perhaps you would like to talk _to_ her rather than about her?”

“I’d like an answer to my question,” Sigefrid replied. “Does she?”

Erik couldn’t keep from grinning. Sigefrid laughed again and patted his brother on the shoulder. Then he turned to Aethelflaed.

“Welcome, princess!” He embraced her too and she accepted it awkwardly. “Two years ago, I offered you Erik to keep. You would have saved yourself a lot of trouble.”

She smiled. “I certainly would have. Perhaps I should heed your advice in future, lord.”

“Well, he’s yours now and I’m glad to be rid of him.” It was all jokes, of course. Sigefrid was overjoyed to have his brother back with him. It was obvious how much they loved each other. It left Aethelflaed with a tight, anxious feeling. She was worried that Sigefrid would not give Erik up so easily, and that he would consider Erik’s marriage a problem that needed to be dealt with. But she pushed those thoughts aside and tried to appreciate Erik’s joy at being reunited with his brother.

They were married in a Pagan ceremony on the first Frigg’s day of their visit. Aethelflaed trusted two married Danish women to prepare her. They braided her hair and made her a crown of flowers. She had a blade ready to give Erik–it was a small knife her father had once given her, as she had none of his real weapons–and she had rehearsed the Norse words for the ceremony. She wanted these Danes and Northmen to see her as a legitimate leader and a legitimate wife for Erik, not as a frightened Saxon girl. The wedding (her third one) was the best yet, not stiff and formal like her first or rushed and tense like her second. There were so many traditions to surprise, confuse, and delight her. The feast that night was livelier than any Christian reception Aethelflaed had ever attended.

She watched from the head table as the men played an aggressive game of strength with a length of rope. Erik’s team seemed to be winning, though she couldn’t really tell with all the yelling. But then Erik fell, bringing his row of warriors down with him, and the other team erupted into cheers. Erik lay on the ground laughing until another warrior pulled him up. Aethelflaed shook her head, wondering how the drunken, raucous man before her could be the same gentle, measured man who sang to her daughter or sat with her in councils. But then he turned to her with a wide grin and she felt a surge of affection.

Sigefrid took the seat next to Aethelflaed, pausing to refill her cup and his. He raised his cup in a kind of toast and she took a drink. He leaned close. He was smiling but there was a glint in her eye that she didn’t like.

“Well, Aethelflaed, you’ve made quite a life for yourself, with all of Mercia and Danelaw at your beck and call.”

“I don’t imagine Danelaw cares much for me, lord, at least not yet.”

“Enough of that lord business. It’s Sigefrid now.” He winked at her and she gave him a smile–her political smile, not her real one. But then his hand found her forearm and he gripped it tightly. There was nothing friendly or even sexual about the touch; he didn’t _want_ her, he wanted to scare her.

“I hope you are not like your traitor husband, Aethelflaed. I do not suffer treachery and cowardice.”

Aethelflaed’s expression hardened. “My _husband_ is Erik Thurgilson, and I hope I am very much like him.” He did not release her arm and the pressure of his fingers was beginning to hurt.

With her free arm, she grabbed the nearest candle and swept it down, holding the flame close enough to burn his wrist. He pulled back instantly, and Aethelflaed dropped the candle in the grass, smothering the flame with her boot. She singed herself a little in the process and there was a pool of wax already hardening on her skirt, but she did not care. “I would be very careful where you place your hand, Sigefrid. You wouldn’t want to lose that one too.”

He was wincing at his stinging flesh but he looked up at her. “Oh, I like you, Aethelflaed. I like you very much. I did not see it before, but I am beginning to understand.” He laughed, loud enough to startle her, then stood up, pulling her up beside him. He lifted his cup high and waited for the guests to mirror him. “To Aethelflaed, our Saxon queen.”

They echoed his toast and cheered. Sigefrid stared at Aethelflaed until she lifted her own cup and drank it down. He laughed again, the sound so sharp and abrupt after the dark intensity of his eyes. She wondered if she would ever get used to his sudden mood shifts.

“What’s this?”

The morning light was spilling in through the window. They had slept late after the celebration the night before. Aethelflaed opened her eyes lazily to see what Erik was asking about. He was running his fingers along Aethelflaed’s arm, tracing along the dark marks that had appeared there. She hated how easily she bruised.

“It’s nothing,” she drew her arm back under the blanket.

“Aethelflaed,” he said, his brow furrowed. “You can’t lie to me.”

She smiled a little. “I don’t suppose I can. It was Sigefrid. He wanted to warn me or something. Test me. I don’t know.”

Erik looked puzzled and she wondered at his naivety. Sigefrid was chaos. Did Erik really think it wouldn’t touch her?

“Not to worry, Erik. I burnt his hand. He’s worse off than me.” Aethelflaed smiled reassuringly at him. She curled against his side, resting her head on his chest. “What do you think my little girl is doing right now?”

He let her change the topic. “She’s probably half-crawling, half-walking around the hall to the cheers of all your guards.”

“I think I miss her most in the mornings. She’s the first thing I think about when I open my eyes.”

“I miss that laugh of hers. Sweetest, strangest sound in the world.”

Aethelflaed looked up at him. “You miss her?”

“Of course I do. She’s our daughter. She’s been ours since you walked into that camp with that ridiculous belly.”

She poked him.”It wasn’t ridiculous. I looked radiant.”

“Remember when you radiantly vomited all over the road to Coccham?”

“That never happened.”

Erik shook his head. “You can’t trick me. It happened, over and over again. I can still picture you, bent over next to the horse–”

“Erik, stop it!”

“And the smell of it. Gods, you were a handful. My vomit-covered princess.”

“Saxon ladies do not vomit, Erik, they ‘take ill.’”

“Then you must not be a Saxon, love, because that was awful.”

Aethelflaed swatted at him. “ _You_ are awful,” she declared. He was shaking with laughter and she started to sit up, to leave the bed. He pulled her back, wrapping her in his arms.

“I’m grateful that you care for her,” she whispered, when Erik was quiet again. “He did not. I’m grateful she will have a father after all.”

“Besides Wulfric,” Erik quipped.

Aethelflaed laughed. “Yes, there is Wulfric. But he will be her warrior, not her father.”

“I would not want to usurp him. He doesn’t need another reason to dislike me.”

“He likes you very much. It was Wulfric who encouraged me to marry you. But he was wary: you were a danger he couldn’t protect me from. Now that we are wed, the two of you will get along.” She closed her eyes and after a few moments Erik believed she had dozed off. But then she spoke again. “Now Sigefrid, he will not trust me. He still sees me as a threat.”

“To his territory?”

“To his bond with you.”

Sigefrid was showing Erik his new weapons, taken during a raid on the Scots. There were gleaming broadswords and shields engraved with elaborate knots. Erik held a sword in his hand, testing its weight.

“You bruised my wife last night, Sigefrid.” He said the words almost casually, like he was remarking on the weather.

Sigefrid gave Erik a half-glance, his mind on other things. “What did I do?”

“You left bruises on Aethelflaed’s arm.”

Sigefrid shrugged. “I barely touched her. Pale little thing, marks too easy.” He looked up to see Erik staring at him. “Besides, she got me worse.” He held up his hand so Erik could see the blistered skin.

Erik nodded but his expression stayed hard. “You will not touch her again, Sigefrid.”

Sigefrid was confused. “Erik. It was nothing.”

“I killed the last man who hurt her. Or do you not remember?”

Sigefrid approached until he was eye to eye with his brother. “Is that a threat?”

“It was only a reminder, Sigefrid.” Erik raised the broadsword, as if inspecting it, then held the blade against Sigefrid’s throat. “This is a threat.” He increased the pressure so that Sigefrid had to take careful, shallow breaths. “You will not touch my wife again. You will not insult her or cause her fear. And when you meet my daughter Aelfwynn, you will treat her with the same level of respect. Do you understand?”

The surprise in Sigefrid’s eyes quickly turned to anger. “You do not make demands on me.”

“And why not? I’m the one holding the blade. I didn’t think I’d need to do this, Sigefrid. I thought you would know better. Aethelflaed is my wife. She is under my protection. If you ever harm her again, no matter how small the bruise or how mild the insult, you will face me. Now I ask again, do you understand?”

“I understand, brother,” Sigefrid answered, his voice uneasy. He was not used to deference of any kind.

Erik lowered the sword. “Good.”

Sigefrid let out a deep breath.

Erik grinned broadly. “Now let’s go train. Show me what your men can do with these new weapons.”

Sigefrid stroked his throat where the blade had rested, but then felt the scrape of stubble against his burnt hand and winced. “The two of you are quite the match,” he muttered.

“Erik,” Aethelflaed asked, pacing the small bedroom. “Am I good?”

“Shouldn’t you be asking one of your priests that question?” He had been sparring with the men and he was cleaning off, wiping away the dirt and mud.

“No, not like that. I mean, do I please you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I think you know you do, love. Why are you asking?”

She stopped in front of the wash stand. He had left a splatter of water on the wood and she trailed her fingers through it, tracing a pattern. “I see all those Danish women. The shield maidens. They are so beautiful and strong. They know more than me. I wonder if you liked them better.”

Erik dried his hands. “I married you, didn’t I?”

“I know you love me, Erik. That’s not what I mean.” She sounded a little agitated.

He came up behind her, placing his hands on her hips. “Then tell me what you do mean.”

Aethelflaed sighed. “You have been with so many women. Don’t look smug about it! And I have only had you. He doesn’t count. So I think you must have had better.”

Erik stepped forward, pressing her against the wash stand. She had to brace her hands against the wood.“I may have had women. Many women, even. But I have only loved you. That makes you different, Aethelflaed. Better.” He was so close that she could feel his lips brush her neck as he spoke. She leaned back against him and tilted her head so he could kiss her throat. But he did not. He stepped back, leaving her unsteady and wanting.

“Besides, those were all women and you are some kind of strange animal, so there’s really no comparing.”

She turned on him. “What did you call me?.”

“I’ve angered the beast now,” he spoke with pretend fright, stepping back with his hands raised in surrender.

“I am not a beast or an animal,” Aethelflaed insisted, following him. He dodged out of her reach.

“Then what exactly are you? Because you bite and scratch and scream, and I just can’t make sense of it.” Erik sprung at her, lifting her up by the waist and hoisting her in the air. She yelped and kicked. “See? You’re some kind of wild creature. But what? I’ll have to examine you more thoroughly.”

He fell onto the bed and set her on his lap, so she straddled him.He was already hard beneath her, and she rocked a little, drawing a groan from him. He shifted their clothes so he could touch her.

“I am not a beast,” she protested, even as she twisted his hair around her fists.

He put his fingers to her lips, shushing her. She bit his hand. “You _are_ a beast,” he grunted. He lifted her by the hips just a little and drew her down onto his cock.

It was just the three of them at the table. Erik and Sigefrid were deep in conversation while Aethelflaed concentrated on her food.

“Have you lost your voice, Aethelflaed?” Sigefrid switched to English so suddenly that Aethelflaed almost missed the words.

“No, Sigefrid. I am having trouble following the conversation in Norse.”

He nodded. “I was worried, you see, because you screamed so much earlier that I thought surely you had lost your voice.”

Aethelflaed blushed fiercely. She picked up her cup and drained it to avoid responding.

A grin started to spread across Erik’s face.

“Don’t you dare.” Aethelflaed said, catching sight of his expression.

Sigefrid looked from one to the other curiously.

“No, Sig, you misunderstand. That was not my wife with me. I was being attacked by a wild animal.”

“Erik.” Aethelflaed’s tone was dark but her face was bright red.

“I even have scratches to prove it.”

Aethelflaed groaned in discomfort.

“And this animal, it calls you by your name, brother?” Sigefrid asked, “because I swear I heard your name quite clearly.”

The two men broke down in laughter while Aethelflaed hid her face.

“Now that you’ve had enough of Erik’s tiny cock for one day, princess, we can talk about serious things. Mercia.”

“What about it?” Aethelflaed asked.

“I planned to invade it, before this marriage alliance. So what happens now?”

“You leave Mercia alone. Your warriors may enter peacefully, but there will be no raids and there will certainly be no invasion.”

Sigefrid considered Aethelflaed. Her embarrassment had entirely faded and she was sitting straight and calm. If he had believed he could intimidate her, he was wrong.

“Erik, why is it that you and your wife are always telling me what I can and can’t do?”

“Perhaps even your chaos and greed need limits, brother.”

Sigefrid let out a huff of laughter. “I don’t like to be told what to do.” He addressed the words to Aethelflaed and there was that glint in his eyes again.

“Then I will not tell you what to do, Sigefrid, but I will tell you what will happen.” Aethelflaed leaned forward and spoke slowly “If you attack Mercia, I will fight you and I will win. You will lose warriors, silver, and reputation. You will gain nothing.”

“What makes you so sure that you can defeat me?”

Aethelflaed smiled, like she was waiting to be asked. “I have all the warriors of Mercia. I have the support of Wessex. I have Uhtred and I have Erik.”

Sigefrid glanced at Erik for confirmation. Erik nodded. “She is right. You do not have to change your ways, brother. You can raid the Scots. You can attack Francia or Ireland. You can invade Guthrum’s territory. But Mercia is off limits.”

Sigefrid growled and called for more ale. When his cup was full he glared at Erik. “You should not have made this deal for us both,” he said in Norse. “If any of my other men did it, I would kill them.”

“Go right ahead. Then you will have to face my wife, so I will not wait long for you in Valhalla.”

“You speak too highly of her, Erik. She is just a woman.”

“She is a queen, Sigefrid, and a warrior. You do not see it now but we are fortunate to be in her good graces. She had her choice of husbands back in Mercia, but she argued for me. And not just because of how I hump, but because she sees a future where Danes and Northmen have a home in England. Many kings and ealdormen still wish to drive us off this island. Aethelflaed wants us to stay. You could be angry at her and at me. You could try and burn this all the ground. Or you could embrace it. Go raiding across the water with the knowledge that your territory here is secure, that you will always have a warm hall to return to. There are worse fates.”

Aethelflaed had not understood all of what Erik said, but she understood his purpose. “I do not wish to rule you, Sigefrid. I know I could not. But why fight your brother here while there are still so many lands left to conquer?”

Sigefrid considered their words for a moment then sighed in exasperation. “This is how it will be now, two against one. I’ll bore myself to death just trying to argue with you.”

“Then find yourself a wife to do your arguing for you,” Aethelflaed said lightly.

“Perhaps I should just steal you from Erik, as he stole you from that Mercian turd. What do you think, Aethelflaed, can I seduce you as easily as my brother did?”

She grinned. “The first time he tried to seduce me, he ended up my prisoner, so I’d be very careful, Sigefrid.”

“Now that is pathetic, brother.” Sigefrid laughed and Aethelflaed grinned. Erik was glad to see them friendly with each other, even if it was at his own expense. Sigefrid raised his cup. “To an alliance with Mercia and its queen.”

Aethelflaed and Erik joined his toast. Aethelflaed wondered how many drinks needed to be raised until she was secure in Sigefrid’s good graces. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I have one chapter left and its the softest fluff, so get ready. Nothing but happy endings here, pals. Nothing but the best for my OTP.


	33. Chapter 33

_Six Years Later_

The guards posted on the Thames were wary of viking ships, but they recognized the ship with the raven on its prow. It terrified them, as they’d heard enough tales about the man who sailed it, but they let it through all the same, sending word to the lord and lady of Mercia of its arrival.

Aelfwynn was the first to greet him, as she was out for a walk with Marta when he waded onto shore. She squealed with joy and ran at him. He let out a grunt of pain when she careened into his legs, almost knocking him off his feet. He still had sea legs and was unsteady enough to be taken out by a child.

“What do we have here?” He scooped her off her feet and lifted her high. “Some kind of a goblin?”

Aelfwynn laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hello, Sig.”

“Hello, feilan. Can you take me to my good-for-nothing brother?”

She nodded and he set her on the ground, letting her take him by the hand and lead him.

“Where have you been?”

“I have been in the south, where it is warm all the time.”

“And what have you brought me?”

“Nothing! Was I meant to bring you something?”

“Sig!”

“Nah, feilan, you have enough men at your beck and call, you don’t need me.”

“What does that mean, beck and call?”

“It means they do whatever you want. Tell me, Aelfwynn, how many grown men do whatever you want? Besides Erik.”

She frowned. “He doesn’t count. He’s my father.”

Sigefrid was going to correct her, but thought better of it.

Aelfwynn was thinking. “Wulfric. And lots of his guards. The nice ones. And Durwyn.”

“Who is Durwyn?”

“He’s our carpenter. He’s going to make me a ship of my own, just like yours.”

“You’re a sea captain now, are you?” They were nearing the house now. “Is your mother here?”

“Of course she is.”

Sigefrid cursed his bad luck. Aelfwynn was about to ask why he was saying those words when they reached the house.

“Sigefrid!” Erik crowed and ran at his brother, hitting him with a bone breaking hug. At least Sigefrid knew where Aelfwynn had learned it. “Were we expecting you?”

“Not unless you have a seer.”

Erik pushed Sigefrid into the hall, where food and ale were waiting. As was Aethelflaed.

“My queen,” Sigefrid said with a mocking bow.

“My lord,” Aethelflaed answered, just as sarcastically.

His eyes fell to her round stomach. “Another one? Don’t you have enough?”

“This is only the third, Sigefrid.”

“That’s far too many,” Sigefrid mussed up Aelfwynn’s hair. “Especially when you got it right the first time. Why mess with perfection, huh?” Aelfwynn giggled and gazed up at him adoringly. Aethelflaed rolled her eyes. Sigefrid took a seat beside Erik. “Then again, you have to keep her satisfied, eh, Erik? Otherwise she’d leave you for the next pitiful warrior who walked by.”

“Sigefrid.” Aethelflaed spoke sternly.

“Is she as lustful as ever? You know, I have a whole crew of warriors, strong men, they can give you a hand with her, brother.”

“Sigefrid!”

Erik laughed. “Keep it up and you won’t have a place to sleep tonight. Aethelflaed controls the rooms, you know.”

“Oh, I’ve never had any trouble finding a bed to sleep in.”

“You can stay in my room!” Aelfwynn offered.

Sigefrid gave Aethelflaed a smug smile. It irked her how much he had charmed her daughter. “Thank you, feilan.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Aethelflaed sat down. “Sigefrid can have a room all his own in exchange for some news.”

It was a fair enough trade, and as he ate his meal, Sigefrid told them everything he’d learned on this last raid. Sigefrid had given up ruling years before, preferring to stay at sea, raiding with his crew. He found managing a settlement too tedious, so their estate in Lunden was the closest thing he had to a home. He’d stop by between journeys and keep them informed of the world beyond their borders. This time, he told them about the lands far to the south, where the water was bright blue, and about the gossip circulating in different ports, talk of war and famine and scandal. His favourite were the rumours he heard about them, the lord and lady of Mercia. Though it’d been six years, their marriage was still something of a legend. Everyone, Saxon or Dane, had an opinion on the downfall or triumph that was Mercia. The latest story, picked up from a group of sailors in Francia, was that Erik had two more wives in addition to Aethelflaed: a Briton and a Dane. The sailors were split on how Aethelflaed felt about this: Half said she chose the wives herself and brought them all to her bed. The other half said she had sworn vengeance on her cheating husband. One man swore that she had called on her lover Uhtred to kill Erik for her.

“Why do all these stories make me out to be some violent, scandalous woman?” Aethelflaed complained, after a good laugh.

“I don’t sound too good, either,” countered Erik.

Aethelflaed scoffed. “Yes, I’m sure having three wives reflects very badly on you, you poor poor man.”

“If there all as much work as you are, I pity him.”

Aethelflaed reached across the table to smack Sigefrid on the arm. Aelfwynn had been pushed out of the hall while the adults talked, but now she returned and climbed into Sigefrid’s lap. He groaned but wrapped an arm around her so she wouldn’t fall. She pulled out a small knife and held it up for him to see.

“Where did you get that?!” Aethelflaed cried in alarm.

“Father gave it to me.”

They all turned to Erik, who looked uneasy.“She found it. I let her keep it is all.”

“She’ll get hurt!”

“I taught her how to handle it safely, love. She’ll be fine.”

Sigefrid laughed. “It suits you, feilan, you being such a dangerous small thing.”

“Why do you call me feilan?”

“Because you are a little wolf. Your mother is a wolf, and you are her daughter.”

Aelfwynn grinned at Aethelflaed, who couldn’t help but smile back. As much as Sigefrid bothered her, his grudging admiration still pleased her.

“If mother is a wolf, what is father?”

“Your father was a pig’s ars–”

“Sig.” Erik cut him off, his voice a dark warning.

Sigefrid shifted course. “Your father is a raven, crafty and determined.”

“Like the one on your ship,” Aelfwynn replied.

“Exactly,” Erik stood and stretched his legs. “He painted me onto his ship because he can’t bear to sail without me. Isn’t that right, brother?”

“Something like that. But I think I will replace my raven with a wolf. What do you think, feilan? Could you lead my ship on its journeys?”

Aelfwynn nodded and brandished her knife.

“And you, Sigefrid, how are you?” Aethelflaed asked. “Any new injuries that need tending to?”

Sigefrid shook his head, even as he rubbed the knee that pained him more and more each day. “I’m as strong as ever.”

“You are not. You’re aging just like the rest of us.”

“Maybe even faster,” Erik quipped, reaching to pull at the grey in Sigefrid’s beard. Sigefrid swatted him away.

“I don’t seem to be able to die. We had a hard raid this time. A good third of my warriors didn’t make it out. But there I was at the end of it all, standing tall. I guess I’ll need a harder fight next time, eh?”

Erik nodded but Aethelflaed looked down. She did not understand his hunger for death. But then again, they led very different lives.

“You shouldn’t die, though.” They hadn’t realized Aelfwynn was still listening. “When you die, you’ll be in Valhalla and I won’t see you anymore.”

“What about when you get to Valhalla, feilan? Won’t I be there waiting for you?”

“I’m going to heaven with mother,” Aelfwynn explained, very matter of factly.

“Have you _met_ your mother? If she is not a warrior, I don’t know who is. Odin would be a fool not to take her to his hall. Besides, she wouldn’t leave Erik alone with me, so she’ll come to Valhalla and you will follow.Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Sigefrid,” Aethelflaed protested softly.

He didn’t meet her eye. “I need a woman. Erik, are you going to show me where the best brothels are? Or are you too busy at home to even know?”

“I can point you in the right direction,” Erik said, exchanging a look with his wife. “But then I am needed here.”

Aethelflaed shook her head. “Go. I’ll handle the ealdormen on my own, so long as you leave all the women to your brother.”

“I’ll stick to ale, love.” He gave her a kiss, then rested a hand on her stomach. Sigefrid sighed impatiently.

“Sigefrid, don’t you want to say hello to my other child? _Erik_ ’ _s_ child? Your nephew?”

“I like this one,” Sigefrid said, flipping Aelfwynn in the air so she squealed with laughter. “She’s my favourite.” He dropped her to her feet and placed a kiss on her head. He turned to Erik and spoke in Norse. “Let’s go find you a nice woman to hump for once, brother.”

“I understood that!” Aethelflaed called after them. She turned to Aelfwynn and sighed. “Your uncle is a menace, child.”

There would be harder days than these. Power was precarious, and there were many who would seek to unseat the lady of Mercia. There would be times of famine and violence when Aethelflaed would regret the throne she’d claimed. She’d want to leave the burden of her title to another, rule no one but herself, serve no one but Erik. There would be wars that tested their loyalty to each other. Sometimes, the battle would be in their own home, when their love came up against the fault between their two cultures. There would be a woman with dark eyes who turned Erik’s head, and Aethelflaed would have to capture him once again. There would be a day when Aelfwynn would realize the truth of her parentage, when all the asides and snide remarks suddenly made a cruel sense. She would hate them both for a time, the father who died and the father who killed him. And there would be a fight that even Sigefrid couldn’t win, and a girl left waiting for a raven ship that never returned. Erik would put his trust in the gods, that his brother had died sword in hand and would be waiting for him in Odin’s hall.

There would be so many to mourn: children, captains, allies, and friends. And there would come a day when Erik and Aethelflaed were parted, and she would pray that their time in this world had been enough. It would never be enough. But it had been something, hadn’t it? He had saved her. She had changed her world for him. It had been worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it, Aethelrik pals. A happy ending for my favourite pair and uncle Sigefrid thrown in for good measure. He is a very good uncle, but only to Aelfwynn, because he's still a bit of an ass. He can't be nice to *everyone*, you know? That'd be a lot of work.
> 
> Thanks for reading this!
> 
> Um, comment below if you actually want me to post the version of chapter 31 where Erik and Aldhelm settle their differences more...intimately.


	34. Outtake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate version of chapter 31, inspired by tumblr. Or: Aldrik kind of happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is very porny and I'm sorry but I'm not sorry.
> 
> I 100% credit @greenwillow with the line about putting Aldhelm's tongue to use. My brain definitely borrow this from one of her fics and forgot to tell me.

It had been several months since the ceremony naming Aethelflaed as the leader of Mercia, and though Aldhelm kept up his duties, advising Aethelflaed and attending meetings, there was a current of resentment in every interaction they shared. She was growing weary of it. Moreover, she worried that it would impact her standing with the ealdormen. If Aldhelm gave any indication of his dislike of Aethelflaed, as he had with Aethelred near the end, she knew that Mercian opinion of her would lower. He was an influential man.

For his part, Aldhelm couldn’t fully comprehend his resentment. He had full confidence in Aethelflaed’s abilities and in her motives. He truly believed, as he had at the witan, that she was the best leader Mercia could ask for. And he was proud that she still called on him and considered him such a valuable advisor. And yet, there was this bitter taste in his mouth when he saw her. Especially when he saw her with Erik.

That was the crux of it: his anger should have been with Erik. But it was Aethelflaed who he disrespected, in subtle and almost intangible ways. He wanted to be a better man, to separate his ill feelings to this heathen from his service to his queen. But so far he could not.

One day he felt that bitterness rise in him. He was in the courtyard of Aethelflaed’s home, watching with the others while Erik and his warriors trained. It wasn’t his choice to be there, but Aethelflaed believed that the Saxon warriors should learn the techniques of the Danes and Northmen, so they were better prepared to face them in any future battles. So Aldhelm was there, alongside Wulfric and many others, watching Erik wield his shield tirelessly against a broad-chested Dane. After many blows and dodges, the Dane struck Erik across the legs, knocking him clean off his feet. Erik ended up on his back, laughing and groaning at his opponent’s victory. He climbed to his feet and Aldhelm regarded him: half-coated in mud, hair damp with sweat, his brow still furrowed in pain and concentration. Aldhelm watched him and seethed.

“How can she care for him?” he muttered, not fully aware that he was speaking aloud.

Wulfric leaned closer, not catching Aldhelm’s words but getting a clear sense of his mood. “Everything alright, lord?”

Aldhelm nodded, but then turned to Aethelflaed’s captain. “Wulfric, you saw it all, did you not?”

“Saw what, my lord?”

Aldhelm gestured to Erik. “You were with her when she captured him. You were in Coccham, at Lichfield. Perhaps you can help me understand. I cannot make sense of it.”

Wulfric chuckled. “Lord Aldhelm, there is little sense in love. It’s a waste of your good mind to worry over it.”

Aldhelm should have let it go there. He did not.

“But look at him. She was raised by King Alfred, an intelligent, dignified man. Erik is…the opposite. Can you explain to me why she chose a man like _that_? Do you truly think well of him?”

Wulfric nodded, considering Aldhelm’s words, then spoke. “To begin, I reject your premise that a woman should want a husband like her father. That’s just a whole headache in itself. If I sought a husband like my father–” Wulfric paused, as if catching the implications of his words, “well, we do not all have fine fathers, lord, and if we do, we still may seek something different.

“Then, you bring up Erik’s character. And I concede that looking at him now he is rather…grimy. Maybe a little ferocious. But he is playing at war. All men must dirty themselves in war.

“You ask for my perspective on him, as I have served Lady Aethelflaed so closely. But when I met Erik he was not her lover, but her prisoner, and he was as good a prisoner as I’ve ever met. Compliant but not pitiable. Friendly but not manipulative. When he had the chance to escape, he saved Aethelflaed’s life instead. And though I do not like to reflect on my failures that day, I am grateful to him for keeping her safe when I could not.

“Over the years, I have worried over Aethelflaed’s choice, perhaps more than even you, lord. What you may not see and what I probably should not tell you is that she chose Erik for his gentleness and his loyalty. He has always been kind to her, always respectful, always curious about what she will say or do next. He has never doubted her. And for a woman of her ambition, I think that must be a necessary thing.”

Wulfric concluded his little speech with a small smile. “But what do I know, lord? I am just a guard.” He clapped Aldhelm on the back and moved away, ready to take up a shield and try some of the Danish techniques.

It wasn’t until that evening, when Aldhelm was preparing for sleep, that he could understand his resentment in terms of Wulfric’s words. It was not that Erik was a heathen or a warrior or unrefined. It was that he was good. Aldhelm had grown to love Aethelflaed when she was still Aethelred’s wife. Every day, Aldhelm could look at her husband and know that he was a better man. Compared to Aethelred, Aldhelm was more worthy. But compared to Erik–well, Aethelflaed had made her judgment clear in the witan. Erik was the better man and Aldhelm’s jealousy had reached a whole new scale.

“Will you be there tomorrow, at the council?” Aethelflaed was undressing while Erik lay on the bed.

“Do you need me?”

“No, but I cannot stand another day with Aldhelm’s coldness. It would be warmer there with you by my side.”

Erik smiled. “It would not. You know he is always worse in my presence.”

“How would you know? You’ve never seen him when you’re not around.”

“I can guess. Especially given the motive for his behaviour.”

“And what is that?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, slowly unravelling her hair.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Aethelflaed.”

“Erik.” She returned his incredulous look. “Tell me! What?”

“He wants you.”

Aethelflaed turned away. “He does not.”

“Oh, love, he does. More than you could know. More than even he knows. You don’t believe me?”

Aethelflaed sat back with a frown.

“Aethelflaed, you are a very desirable woman. You are powerful and beautiful and clever. And let’s not forget: the man asked to marry you.”

“Strategically,” she insisted.

“Ah, yes, just as we married ‘strategically’, so I could strategically lie between your legs every night.”

Aethelflaed swatted at him. “Aldhelm is a very dignified man. He would not think–”

“He has a cock, Aethelflaed, same as me.” Erik watched her lie back and close her eyes. “Has it really never occurred to you?”

She frowned. “It has. Yes. But I thought I was being vain. Or that he just hated Aethelred. Or that he was excited about Mercian politics.” Erik laughed. “I always found a way to discount it. So what do I do about it? I will not spend the rest of my reign enduring his jealousy or whatever this is.”

Erik shrugged. They lay side by side on their backs and his hand found hers on the bed, his fingers weaving through hers. “Do you want him?”

Aethelflaed gave him a sharp glance, but he looked back guilelessly. He was genuinely curious. “Does it matter?” she asked, tentatively.

“That wasn’t exactly a no,” he replied.

Aethelflaed turned on her side and looked at him intently. “What are you thinking? You have some kind of scheme, I can tell.”

Erik smiled, his eyes closed. “Perhaps if he had you, it would alleviate some of his desire. Then he could be easier with you.”

Aethelflaed was confused, surprised, and a tiny bit excited. “Would you let me be with another man?”

“As if I could ever stop you from doing anything,” Erik countered.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” He turned to face her. “Not alone.”

“You would be there.”

He nodded. She bit her bottom lip and her mouth curled into a smile.

“Oh, princess, you are beautiful when you are excited.” He still held her hand and he lifted it to his mouth, resting his lips on her knuckles.

“He might not be agreeable,” she whispered.

Erik shrugged. “Then I will take you to bed alone and go to sleep a happy man.”

Aethelflaed let out a little laugh. “I don’t think I will ever understand you, Erik.”

“Then you will never be bored,” he said, and pulled her against his chest.

Aldhelm was surprised when he arrived at Aethelflaed’s home and found he was the only guest. Often, he’d been invited to dine with other visitors. Occasionally, they had worked late enough that he would eat at her table. But just the three of them? It was unexpected and uncomfortable. Ever since his conversation with Wulfric, Aldhelm was irritated with himself and his behaviour. He had resolved to be better, kinder to Aethelflaed. Sitting across from Erik though, that was a bit of a test.

“We had a party of monks arrive from Danelaw today, lady,” Aldhelm said, hoping he could spend the evening on politics.

“Any news?”

“They say that Danes seem to be gathering in the north, near Eoferwic, but they don’t know the reason.”

“Sigefrid’s in Eoferwic, is he not?” Aethelflaed asked Erik.

Erik nodded. “He was headed there when last I heard from him.”

“Do you know of his intentions?” Aldhelm asked a little sharply.

“You mean does he intend to attack Mercia? He would love to, but he has sworn he will not.”

“And do you trust him?”

Erik laughed. “That is a good question. Not wholly, no. What do you think, Aethelflaed, will Sigefrid keep his word?”

Aethelflaed sighed. “I am counting on him loving you too much to break it.” She gave Erik a small smile and he returned it.

And Aldhelm could see it: the intimacy between them. They had discussed this topic many times, just the two of them, and now just a look could recall all other words spoken. Aldhelm wanted this with…someone. He wanted to find someone who could know him so well. But his longing for Aethelflaed held him back.

Aethelflaed excused herself to feed Aelfwynn, leaving Erik and Aldhelm alone at the table. Erik filled both their cups.

“So, Lord Aldhelm, what is your plan?”

“My plan?”

Erik shrugged. “Yes, your plan. Do you intend to punish Aethelflaed forever? Or do you have an end date in mind? Or are you angling for something, a title or an estate of your own?”

Aldhelm was thrown off. “Punish Aethelflaed–I don’t understand you, lord. I am sorry.”

Erik nodded as if this was exactly the answer he was expecting. He took another drink of ale and then spoke again.

“What is it you like about Aethelflaed?”

Aldhelm was still confused and a little indignant at Erik’s bizarre line of questioning. Aldhelm said nothing. But Erik did not mind. After another moment, he spoke again.

“I noticed her smile first. It’s beautiful, yes? The real one. She has one she uses for the public and the ealdormen and the priests she doesn’t like, but then she has a true smile. I was sitting in this alehouse, thinking that I was about to be harassed to convert by some ruthless Saxon woman, and then she smiled at me and I was–well, I was so taken with her that she literally took me prisoner. So it was the smile first. But then it was her intelligence. She was talking on some political topic, I don’t remember… (Erik did remember. It was Aethelred’s mistresses, but he wouldn’t bring that up now) and she was just so fucking smart. I liked that. I still do.”

He had been staring at the table while he talked but now he lifted his eyes and met Aldhelm’s gaze. “And then it was uncountable things. I could not stop falling in love with her. Fast, too fast. I wonder, Aldhelm, if it was the same for you.”

There was suddenly an ache in Aldhelm’s chest. It had been there a long time, but it was like he was finally naming it, finally acknowledging it, and it pained him more than it ever had before. He lifted his cup and drained it, bringing it back to the table with a hard thud. Erik filled it again, and Aldhelm drank again, before he could form words.

“It was slow. So slow I didn’t even realize it. But it was her intelligence, of course it was, and the way she could speak with so much confidence. I’d never seen a woman be so bold, and in the face of someone as consistently and mundanely cruel as Aethelred. I think that he broke her at first, at least a little bit, but then she just put herself back together, stronger than ever, bolder than before. So I guess I should not have been surprised when she was so bold as to marry you.” He stared at Erik. “But I thought I understood her. I thought if I loved Mercia enough, then she would choose me. It was foolish of me to think I knew her.”

Erik shook his head. “She was careful. Only Wulfric truly knew about us. Even I thought she would love Mercia too much to choose me. I thought you were the safer bet.” He smiled, but it only touched his eyes, not his mouth. “I don’t think we should be enemies, Aldhelm.”

“Should we be friends?”

Erik chuckled. “Don’t sound too disgusted. Even heathens like me have feelings.”

Aldhelm let slip a half smile.

“Careful, Aldhelm. I’ve already revealed my weakness for smiles. If you don’t hold back, you’re going to win me over as surely as she did.”

Aldhelm grinned fully then, in spite of himself. He would not be charmed by Erik Thurgilson. He _could_ not. He would despise himself completely if he left this house liking the Northman. But then again, which was worse: spending all his energy resenting Aethelflaed, or finally warming up to Erik? The former felt like a battle he couldn’t win. The latter felt like a welcome surrender.

“Tell me, lord, if the threat in Eoferwic grows, and if Sigefrid is behind it, what does that mean for the lord of Mercia?”

Erik sat back and sighed. “You mean would I choose my brother over my wife? I would not. I will not. I admit, it would be difficult. But I have made my vows and I intend to keep them.”

“You made vows to Aethelflaed, not Mercia.”

“I see no difference.”

Aldhelm nodded. It was the right answer.

“My turn to ask,” Erik leaned forward again, looking at Aldhelm intently. “When you are offered a chance at a Mercia without Aethelflaed, will you take it?”

“ _When_ , lord? You sound so certain.”

“We both know politics. Someone will ask you to betray her, if they have not already.”

Erik was right, of course he was. Aldhelm sat up a little straighter. “I serve the lady of Mercia. No one else.”

“Good man,” Erik said with a sideways grin, and Aldhelm was foolishly pleased at Erik’s approval. For God’s sake, please let Aethelflaed return to this table before Aldhelm lost his dignity entirely.

“Anything else, lord, or is your interrogation over?”

Erik laughed harshly. “It’s your turn to ask a question, Aldhelm. I have one more, but I respect the order.”

Aldhelm considered the man across from him. Any other day and his question would have been _why you_ , but Aethelflaed’s choice was no longer a mystery to him. Now, he felt compelled to ask something much more intrusive, something that made him feel a little ashamed and a little excited. _How is she_. He wondered if Erik would kill him just for wondering. But the more that Aldhelm understood Aethelflaed and Erik’s relationship, the more he pictured it–his beautiful, graceful queen wanting pleasure and getting it. It was absurd to be sitting across from this warrior and be lusting so deeply after the man’s wife. But Aldhelm could not help his thoughts. Thankfully, he could keep them to himself.

“No more questions, lord. I yield the floor.”

Erik’s smile faded and he looked a little more serious. He took another long drink of ale. His brow was wrinkled in thought and his gaze was fixed on the table. He seemed to be working something out in his head and Aldhelm was suddenly impatient. _Get on with it_ , he silently pleaded, _let me go to my own bed or some brothel so I can deal with these ludicrous desires_.

Erik met Aldhelm’s gaze. The Northman’s brow cleared and his eyes softened, giving the hint of a smile. “So, Lord Aldhelm, will you join us?”

“Join you?” Aldhelm was lost. Had he missed something? Was Erik proposing some journey or council?

“Will you join us in our bed? Tonight. Or another night, I don’t think Aethelflaed is picky.”

Aldhelm felt his cheeks burn. “Lord, if you’re making some kind of a joke–”

“No joke,” Erik raised his hands innocently, “I thought you wanted her. She wants you. So, I made the invitation. Take it or leave it.”

“You two have spoken? About my…feelings?” The very idea of it made Aldhelm feel tiny and pitiful.

“How can we not when you throw your feelings in her face every day?” Erik sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Lord Aldhelm, I have been direct with you. I am tired of these games. Aethelflaed is tired of them. I think you are tired of them. Perhaps this is a solution. Then again, perhaps it will create more problems. I honestly don’t know. But I’m willing to try. Are you?”

Aldhelm took a long drink of ale. It burned down his throat. He swallowed against the unexpected pain. He looked back at Erik. “I’m in.”

As soon as she returned to the table, Aethelflaed knew Aldhelm had agreed. It was the way he looked at her with a mixture of awe and need. He had never let his mask slip like that before. Even when he was his rudest to her, he was always respectful of her body. Now, it was clear just how much he wanted her.

She cast a nervous glance at Erik. She couldn’t quite believe he would permit this, though as he would remind her, he had no say in what she did. But she would stop it for him, set aside any old longings just to make him happy. Maybe he felt the same. Maybe he could tuck away his jealousy in order to see her content. Or maybe he didn’t feel jealous at all because he knew just how much she loved him.

“Did she fall asleep?”

It took her a moment to register Erik’s question. “Yes, eventually. You know how she’s been though, hard to get down but then she sleeps soundly for hours.” She looked back and forth between the men. “So we have time.”

“Good,” Erik said. “Lord Aldhelm, are you finished here?”

Aldhelm’s hand gripped his cup a little too tightly. He checked it, though he knew it was empty. “I am.”

Erik smiled and stood up. “Lead the way, love.”

All too soon they had reached the bedroom. Aldhelm barely recognized it, though he had been here often enough during Aethelred’s reign. But where Aethelred had preferred rich fabrics and ornate gold, Aethelflaed and Erik had chosen clean, simple decor. There was a carved wooden trunk on one side of the room, set next to a wash stand under a hammered mirror. The opposite wall was covered in weapons hung on hooks, with a line of shields leaning below. Aldhelm pitied anyone who tried to fight their way into this room and came up against Erik’s personal armoury.

Then, of course, there was the bed, not the canopied one with dark curtains that Aldhelm remembered, but a rough wooden bed heaped with furs. It was a pagan bed. So much of the home was Aethelflaed but this bed was all Erik. The recognition made Aldhelm shiver a little, though he wasn’t sure if it was excitement or trepidation.

“How do we start?” Erik had been very composed at the table, but he looked a little lost now. He glanced at Aldhelm but his gaze rested on Aethelflaed. Erik looked at her with a devotion Aldhelm had never seen before. And Aethelflaed received it as though it were her due, smiling back at him like a queen ruling over her subject. She stood in front of Erik and placed a hand on his chest. He only wore a thin linen shirt and she could feel his rapid heart beat and the warmth of him. She slid her hand down and stopped just above his trousers, while she claimed his mouth with a kiss.

Aldhelm watched them kiss. He did not understand how it could excite him so much, but it did. Mere hours before, just the sight of them exchanging looks had pained him. Now, they were wrapped in each other’s touch and he felt nothing but desire. His hand rested on his crotch, where he was growing harder.

At last, Aethelflaed turned from Erik toward Aldhelm. Her arm slid from Erik’s grip as she stepped away; the Northman seemed reluctant to let her go. She approached Aldhelm and grinned. She reached up to cup his cheek.

“So tall,” she whispered, then stood on her toes so she could kiss him. He bowed his head to meet her, letting her heels fall back to the ground. She wrapped her arms around his neck as if to keep him close, as if he’d dare pull away. Feeling emboldened, Aldhelm slipped his tongue into her mouth, pushing for more. She let out an exquisite little moan and when he broke the kiss she looked at him with wide, eager eyes. He was breathing hard, as if it had taken effort, kissing her. But it was just the sheer thrill of finally touching her.

Aethelflaed led him towards the bed and Erik. She stood in between them. “Who’s going to undress me?”

They both laughed, releasing some of the tension. Erik wrapped his arms around her, holding her back against his chest. “I get that privilege enough. Let our guest do the honours.” He kissed his way from her ear down to her collarbone before letting her go. She smiled lazily at his touch. Aldhelm felt a pang of envy that Erik would have her every night. Then again, all the more reason to make the best of this moment.

Aldhelm wanted to undress Aethelflaed quickly, but she made it tricky. She kept stopping him so she could take off his clothes too and press kisses to his newly uncovered flesh. But he wanted her naked before him, and he held her in a fierce kiss so he could finish undoing her shift and pulling it down her waist to fall on the floor. Then she was against him, bare and pale and shivering a little. Then he could slow down. He worked his way down her body methodically, not missing any beautiful part of her. He fell to his knees and nuzzled at her breasts, caressing her nipples with his tongue and drawing moans from her. He pushed her gently onto the bed so he could spread her legs and look at all of her. Finally, he sat back and admired her.

“You are so beautiful, lady.”

Aethelflaed laughed and stretched back on the bed, her eyes finding Erik. “You’re right, Erik, he does want me.”

“Could you ever have doubted it?” Aldhelm asked, his voice a little more desperate than he intended.

Aethelflaed stared at him. “You have been very insolent lately, Aldhelm. I was beginning to think you hated me.”

He just shook his head and ran his hand from her breast to her thigh, making her shudder.

“Any orders for your man, princess?” Erik asked.

“I think he should put that sharp tongue of his to better use,” Aethelflaed declared, her eyes still fixed on Aldhelm.

He bent between her legs, eager to serve her.

Aethelflaed writhed a little under his mouth. Erik was the only one who had ever licked her there; Aethelred had no interest in something so unselfish. Aldhelm was different than her husband, but not in anyway she could name. Just different enough. She groaned in pleasure. She opened her eyes to see Erik watching.

“You’re still dressed,” she observed. Aldhelm looked up for a moment, thinking she was addressing him, but she pushed his head back down with gentle intent.

“Do you want me undressed?” Erik asked.

“I can’t suck your cock if it’s underneath your clothes, can I?”

He laughed at her crudeness and took off his clothes. Aethelflaed turned her attention back to Aldhelm. He was using his fingers as well, sliding them in and out of her. She rocked her hips against his hand, urging him to push harder, deeper. Then she came with a sharp cry.

Next she wanted him seated on the edge of the bed, so she could straddle him. Aldhelm cupped his hands around her back, holding her steady while she rode him hard. She rested her forehead on his and he took the chance to kiss her messily, trying to capture her cries, the sounds he drew from her. But then she turned her face away from him so she could look at Erik, who stood nearby stroking himself. Aethelflaed whimpered a little at the sight of her husband. Aldhelm selfishly pulled her back to him. He took hold of her chin and turned her head to face him, the motion unexpected in its roughness. Aethelflaed’s eyes darkened for just a moment.

“No!” Erik spoke firmly. “You cannot be rough with her.”

Aldhelm nodded urgently. “I’m sorry, Aethelflaed.”

She started to move again and kissed him gently. “You have to share. I’m not yours.”

“I know.”

“Good.” She turned her head again and beckoned Erik closer, so she could take his cock in her mouth. Aldhelm’s shame and selfishness was soon swept aside, because being inside her while she worked at another man’s cock was exhilarating. Of course he must share her, of course she should have them both. She was the queen of Mercia and they were lucky she chose to bring them pleasure.

Though she managed them both for a time, when Aldhelm grew closer to his climax, she turned all her attention to him. She rode him harder and faster, clinging to his shoulders and resting her head in the crook of his neck.

“Yes, please, more,” she muttered, and he gave it to her, thrusting up while he dragged her body down onto him. “God, yes.” When he finished with one final, deep, thrust, she couldn’t speak anymore, just bit into his shoulder and let the orgasm ride through her. Gently this time, Aldhelm cupped her face so she would kiss him. His tongue was loose and easy in her mouth and though she had been slack against him, her body was soon tense with desire once again. She climbed off his lap with shaky legs and found her way into Erik’s arms, back to his mouth. Aldhelm lay back on the bed to recover.

Aethelflaed whispered something to Erik, who nodded. She spun around to face Aldhelm again.

“Tell me, Aldhelm. Is it just me you want, or my husband too?”

Aldhelm should not have been surprised by the question. The events of the night so far should have readied him to expect anything, and yet he was taken off guard. He looked at Erik, really looked at him, not as a rival or an enemy. The man was handsome, that was obvious. Perhaps it should feel demeaning to put himself at the mercy of the husband of the woman he loved. But Aldhelm had lost most of his dignity serving Aethelred. Surely this would be better than all that, wouldn’t it?

Of course, the question wasn’t ‘is Erik tolerable,’ the question was whether Erik was desirable. And while Aldhelm considered this with his mind, his cock had formed its own opinion. It was rising to the challenge. Aldhelm let out a little laugh. “Apparently I want you both.”

They sat on the bed with Aethelflaed between them. Aldhelm was in unfamiliar territory here, and he wanted to ground himself in Aethelflaed’s touch. It seemed Erik wanted the same, and they both caressed her as they exchanged their first kiss. Erik’s beard was rough against Aldhelm’s skin and he groaned a little as it scraped against him. Erik grinned and Aldhelm wanted to kiss the smug smile of his face, just this once. So he did.

Aethelflaed kept busy with her hands, stroking them both. Aldhelm had come not so long ago, so he could stand her touch for longer, but Erik had been waiting. He bucked against her hand and moaned against Aldhelm’s throat. He needed more and Aldhelm wanted to give it to him.

Aldhelm unfurled his lady’s fingers, relocating her hand to her breast so she would not get too bored. Then he bent to lick Erik’s cock. Erik let out a string of curses as Aldhelm took him deeper. Aldhelm thought of how Aethelflaed’s mouth had been here too, about how her hand was still wrapped around his own hardness, about her other fingers pinching her nipple like he so badly wanted to, and he sucked hard.

“Was he this good to your cunt, princess?” Erik asked in a tight, needy voice. Aethelflaed smiled and kissed Erik, drinking in his pleasure. Soon after, Erik pushed Aldhelm aside and finished in his own fist.

Aethelflaed surveyed the men on either side of her. They both looked satisfied, but Aldhelm was still hard in her loose grip. “In the interest of fairness, Aldhelm should get a mouth, too.”

Erik laughed. “Ever the just ruler.”

“Aldhelm, stand in front of me.”

Aldhelm obeyed her once again. He loved to follow her orders. She kneeled on the bed in front of him. “You must be gentle with me,” she implored and then wrapped her mouth around him. Aldhelm gasped with pleasure. His legs felt unsteady. This was why beds needed posts, he thought, so you had something to cling too when devious women made you come apart. He resisted the urge to thrust into her mouth, ceding the pace and depth to her. She seemed to know just what to do to drive him mad with pleasure.

“Erik,” she pleaded, as she licked the tip of Aldhelm’s cock, “I need you.”

Erik got to his feet slowly and moved around the bed. Unlike Aldhelm, he was in no rush to meet her demands.

“Erik,” she whimpered.

“You’ll have me when you have me, princess.”

“I want you now.”

Erik scoffed but then positioned himself behind her and pushed into her. She moaned in satisfaction, the sound muffled through her full mouth. She freed her mouth to give more commands. “Aldhelm, stay gentle. Erik, take me harder.”

Erik began to pound into her, each thrust pushing her forward on Aldhelm’s cock and giving him a burst of pleasure. He pulled himself free of Aethelflaed’s mouth and finished on her breasts. She looked at him through heavy lidded eyes and then leaned forward into the bed, pressing her chest against it while she pushed her hips back towards Erik. She kept whimpering as her warrior took her harder. Aldhelm watched it all, watched his queen grip the furs beneath her with white knuckles, moaning as the heathen fucked her into the bed. She gasped out Danish and Norse curses while she climaxed, words Erik must have taught her on other nights like this. She went slack on the bed and Erik collapsed against her, his body curling around hers instinctively.

“Good?” Erik whispered.

“Mmhmm.” Aethelflaed almost purred with satisfaction. Suddenly, Aldhelm felt like an intruder on something too intimate. But Aethelflaed raised her head to look at him. “Good?”

He laughed and it sounded husky and loose. He hadn’t felt so relaxed in such a long time, all the tension gone from his body. “Good,” he answered. Aethelflaed smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clears throat pointedly in Missguided12's direction*  
> Post the cursed story now. I've earned it.
> 
> FINAL COMMENT: In chapter 20, Erik said he could charm Aldhelm, and he finally did.


End file.
